


One Mike Ultimate Werewolf

by Charon_the_Sabercat



Category: Motorcity
Genre: M/M, Very tame for Explicit rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15292032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charon_the_Sabercat/pseuds/Charon_the_Sabercat
Summary: The rough idea was Mike Chilton versus about 30 or so LARPers. When 70-something people showed up for the game, it was bad enough. Then Mike made it clear it wasn't him against them. It was him against Chuck. Then the game got more complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

Lord Vanquisher demanded their presence on the field of battle on the night of the full moon.

 

“Is that tomorrow? Texas has plans for tomorrow.”

 

Chuck groaned. “It's next weekend, dude, keep up. This is gonna be a big meet-up of all the LARPers in Motorcity, and I want you guys to be there.”

 

“Aw, thanks, Chuck!” Julie put her slice of pizza down to pay better attention. She wasn't missing much; she'd had her hot and perfect slice already, and now it was slowly turning into normal food as it got cold. The boys kept eating, the drone of Antonio's filling in their silence, as she asked questions. “What's the special occasion?”

 

“It's almost the 1 year anniversary of when we started the city-wide campaign!” Chuck gushed. “51 weeks on the dot, and we figured if we were gonna have a 1 year anniversary we should invite the kids, but we also wanted to do something where we stayed up all night and partied just for the older players so-”

 

Dutch quickly swallowed his mouthful, catching the prime opportunity. “Likin' how you didn't use the word 'adults'.”

 

“Come on, man, focus! I want you to be there! All of you!” Chuck's fingers laced nervously on the table. “I'm DM-ing this one, and I tried to make it accessible so people could bring their friends if they were curious about LARPing.”

 

Texas raised his hand. “W-”

 

Chuck caught him fast. “DM stands for 'dungeon master', it means I wrote the story and did all the planning.”

 

“If people can bring their friends, then how many players are gonna show up?” asked Julie.

 

Chuck pulled up a small screen, idling scrolling through it to check. “Well I've had three more people RSVP since this morning, so it's about 60 at this point-”

 

All the Burners voiced in at once, all impressed and not quite believing in a big chorus of pizza-filled mouths.

 

“What?!” Chuck at least had the nerve to be a little offended. “Motorcity's big! We're a tight community!”

 

“That sounds awesome!” Mike finally got out. “So, what do we need to do? We don't have to wear costumes, do we?”

 

“I mean it would help to get in character, but I guess you don't have to.”

 

Julie perked up. “Can I bring Claire?”

 

The squeal that bubbled up from Chuck's chest was palpable. “GWOmygod- maybe? If she'll have fun- um- she might wanna wear comfortable shoes.”

 

“Lotta walking, got it.”

 

“Something she can climb in.”

 

That made Julie pause. Texas and Mike leaned in, intrigued.

 

“And Dutch, I need you to make me a moon.”

 

“Okay this is getting weird,” said Dutch.

 

“I know, it's a lot to unpack at once.” Chuck cleared the center of the table and projected out his notes, a mish-mash of pictures, maps, and little side notifications on a hexagonal graph. “This is all top secret, guys. None of the other players know the plan, but I want you guys to have the private intel. I'm gonna go over the plans with Dutch in private, but the rest of you, lean in.” His voice dropped back into the Lord Vanquisher tone. “This is for thine eyes only.”

 

They spoke in hushes, and were still discussing it over comms in the cars on the way back to the garage. What started as a confused rabble quickly turned into little whispers of intrigue, then outright delight over the upcoming weekend. They had a plan! Everything was about to be so cool!

 

They parted ways at the garage, and Mike was just about to head upstairs to turn in when Chuck tugged at his jacket sleeve. “Hey, Mikey, wait up. There's one more thing.”

 

“What's up, bro?” He popped his comm up. “Need me to-”

 

“No! No, keep this quiet.” Chuck patted the comm closed over Mike's wrist. “This part's just for you. In fact-” He straightened up, Lord Vanquisher once again. “If you were to refuse this mission... then all our planning would be for naught.”

 

The weekend came up without much excitement. Not in the context of the session, anyway. There were always Kane attacks and supply runs and chases that meant Chuck screaming in terror in the passenger seat, but that was the more mundane kind of excitement that he was used to. It was fun in its own way when he wasn't scared out of his mind, although 'fun' might have been stretching the definition so thin he could see through it. Nothing he couldn't handle, so long as he woke up the next day without anything broken and Mike smiling at him when he came to Jacob's for breakfast. Stuff was okay.

 

The day finally arrived. Chuck got up earlier than normal, practically bounced out of bed and jumped into his clothes. When he stepped outside, the other Burners (as well as a slightly less made-up Claire) were all there, dressed and maybe a little groggy but waiting for him with bright smiles.

 

“Today...” He wrung his hands. “Is gonna be amazing.”

 

Chuck took the reins and sent Dutch out early with the moon, gathered up all of Jacob's snacks in coolers and packed them himself. While he arranged for The Oracle to pick them up, Julie and Claire took a share of the snacks with them in 9 Lives and headed out. The Oracle arrived early with Ruby and Thurman; Mike drove and Chuck rode shotgun, which left Texas in the back seat with an increasing number of LARPers for every stop they made. They packed around the edges of the van shoulder-to-shoulder while food and weapons piled up in the middle. Some of the players from other groups traded in jokes, which turned into a reference to something, which turned into all of them singing songs in the back.

 

Texas at one point wrestled his way to the front and poured himself over the back seat. “Tiny, save me! There's so much nerdy back here! I can't handle it!”

 

“If you can make us watch a 24 hour kung fu movie marathon for your birthday, then you can handle one night of nerds,” teased Mike. “Don't be a wimp, Texas.”

 

Chuck could only laugh. Today was going to be more than amazing. The bards would sing of it, he knew it, and he knew it even more when they pulled into the parking lot and saw a veritable hoard of fantasy vans, tricked out motorcycles, and scooters with dragon-head flamethrowers. Getting organized took an uneventful hour, putting all the snacks in the clubhouse and setting up chairs and beds and the fridge courtesy of Mad Dog the Conqueror and his dragon. Lord Vanquisher donned his cloak at the last minute and took his stand atop an old electrical box before the field of battle. It was finally time!

 

He cleared his throat. “Welcome, warriors of Raymanthia! Today, we celebrate a joyous occasion, and take merriment in the founding of our mighty kingdom!” He threw his hands into the air, and he internally grinned at the awesome flair of his cloak. “Let all who defend the realm REJOICE!”

 

Seventy-eight players cheered. He could hear Texas's “hwoo-CHAAA!” over the din of the crowd. Everything was so cool! So far, at least.

 

“On the eve of this monumental occasion, before the true celebration upon the next meeting where we invite the youngest of the realm, I invite you- and your company-”

 

He passed Claire a quick look. She looked bored. Great. He continued anyway. “-to survive a test of wits and wisdom. Of skill! Of fear.”

 

The unknowing players in the crowd started sharing looks. Perfect. He waved his hand out to the field behind him.

 

It took ages to scout this place out, but it was perfect. The Cablers had tried to put down roots in this location before the foundation cracked and construction stopped. The crack had been patched enough to walk on safely, but nothing else besides the original worker's house and the base of the tower had been built. It was a beauty, though, nearly 4 blocks of space to explore, and that was just at ground level. The ladders and pipelines and tunnels and hallways were all still there, going up at least four stories in a labyrinthine maze. The perfect oversized playground, and it was all theirs for the whole night.

 

“Behind me, you see the Dark Woods! A treacherous passage of hidden paths and secret dens-”

 

A hand went up in the crowd. “Is it actually dangerous?”

 

Okay that was a serious question. He put his hood down and dropped character. He could kind of recognize the voice, even from up here. “No, Billy, I checked it out first. Everything's safe to walk on.”

 

“So why is it treacherous?”

 

“I'm getting to that! Jeeze!” Up went the hood again. Where was he? “Uh, hidden paths, secrets, dens, because INSIDE the werewolf stalks us under the light of the FULL MOON!”

 

He had to shout that, but it worked. Dutch tapped his comm, and right on cue, a giant paper moon lit up the block. They'd made it massive and bright, and while the light could filter down to the bottom floors, by that point it was very faint. The crowd collectively gasped and cooed and marveled.

 

There went character again as Chuck dropped his hood. “Moon courtesy of Dutch Gordy, everybody.”

 

Applause started easily and passed fast. People were ready to play.

 

“All right, so tonight isn't in canon with the normal campaign, it's just a one off.” Chuck explained. “Everybody line up for a glowstick wh- when I'm done, Todd, god! Okay! The rules: we're starting with one werewolf. He'll be the Pack Alpha, and he's got a stash of these.” Chuck reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace of silver plastic beads. He held his glow stick under them. “Everybody see them? Okay? Good. His goal is to turn all of us humans into werewolves, and he does that by tagging you and getting these beads into your pockets.”

 

A hand went up. “I didn't wear anything with pockets!”

 

“Amna, I told you- that was in the email!” He groaned. “That's okay, I figured that might happen. I have a couple spare fanny packs up here for anybody that isn't wearing pockets, or if you're just uncomfortable with people sticking hands in your pockets in general, okay? Okay. If he gets these beads in your pocket, then YOU are a werewolf and you're on his team.

 

“Werewolves are encouraged to hunt as a pack, but be aware: they can only turn someone if they get them alone. So one on one, human versus werewolf? Werewolf wins. Okay? If you're gonna be vanquished, do so with honor. Two on one, human versus werewolf? The werewolf loses.”

 

Texas raised his hand in the crowd. “What if we're a werewolf and we fight them off with our super-awesome kung fu skills?”

 

“Good question! Yes, this game does involve full contact, but everybody knows the rules. No grabs for the face, no below the belt, no grappling for more than 10 seconds, and if someone breaks character and tells you to stop, you stop. That doesn't change from normal sessions. Texas, please do not suplex anybody.”

 

Ignoring the little disappointed noise, Chuck continued. “Now, two humans defeat a werewolf, but keep in mind: we're not killing the werewolf. We're 'curing' them.” Chuck put the beads over his neck and held the glow stick there for people to see. “Wear your beads on your neck if you're cured. Cured werewolves cannot be turned again, so werewolves, watch your backs. Keep your werewolf identities secret, lest you're turned against your pack.”

 

Another hand. “What if we take somebody down and they're not a werewolf?”

 

“Then they're 'dead'.” Chuck waved the glowstick over at the clubhouse. “And you're out of the game. There's snacks and video games in the clubhouse. Humans, be very careful of who you accuse of lycanthropy. Every false accusation is a win for the werewolves.

 

“All right! Too long didn't listen version: Werewolves versus humans! We start with one wolf. A werewolf turns a human. Two or more humans cures a werewolf or kills another human. Don't tell anyone if you're turned into a werewolf. If all the humans are turned into werewolves, wolves win. If all the humans cure the werewolves, humans win. Any questions?”

 

Chuck was kind of amazed when Claire, up and the front and listening, raised her hand. “So, do we know who the first werewolf is? It seems kind of unfair that it's like, fifty-something people against one guy.”

 

It was perfect. He couldn't have asked for a better set-up. Chuck laughed, the laugh growing deeper and throatier as he raised his hood. He felt so very aware of the 'moonlight' shining off his cloak, and the green light of his glow stick illuminating his face from below. He raised his hand and crooked his fingers. “Come forth for your king, Smiling Dragon.”

 

The group collectively gasped and parted around the Burners, and there at the center stood Mike Chilton, hands in his pockets and grinning since the beginning of the speech. The whole air of the crowd changed as Mike strode to the front, all swagger and a cocky smirk. Suddenly the game felt difficult. Suddenly the reality of how bad they could be screwed over washed over all the players. This was no ordinary player: this was the guy who wielded a double-edged chainsaw against Kane and won. This was the savior of Motorcity. This was Mike goddamn Chilton!

 

The Oracle whispered. “We're boned, dude.”

 

Ruby's fingers flexed on the hilt of her sword. “This is gonna be the best session ever.”

 

Julie whispered to Dutch and Texas. “Look at Mike eating this up.”

 

Up at the electrical box, the Smiling Dragon kneeled at Lord Vanquisher's feet, and hot damn if that didn't send a rush of power up Chuck's spine. Mike hadn't mentioned he'd do that back when they'd planned! Oh yeah, Mike had been super into the idea once Chuck had pitched it. They bounced a few ideas for presentation off each other that first night, and it was Mike that found the beads in Jacob's back room, but the kneeling? And the sheer charisma Mike had that parted the sea of LARPers? He hadn't accounted for that, and without the mental prep it was doing things to him. Oh he was going to remember this for a while.

 

Then Mike made it worse when he stood up again. “Your dragon awaits you, my lord.”

 

He couldn't keep up character, not with that crackle of equal parts embarrassment and thrill and what he was scared to call arousal surging up his spine. He had to clamp down on his voice to keep it from squawking. “V-very good, Smiling Dragon. Alt- althow- ALTHOUGH!” He had to shout to reset himself. “Tonight, I wind the name i-ill fitting! For tonight only, you shall be... The Wild Wolf!”

 

The LARPers rumbled. Everything was going so well!

 

Mike spoke up from the ground. “You forgot something, though.”

 

Chuck's heart broke a little. “Well... fuck.”

 

“I've got you.”

 

Where Chuck had to climb up a staircase of boxes to stand atop the electrical box, Mike just slammed a hand down on the top and- like, jumped, or bounced, or pulled himself up in one smooth gravity-defying movement to stand beside Chuck. When he spoke up, it was proud and effortless, nothing like the tones put on by Chuck doing Lord Vanquisher voice. “All right, everybody, there's one more rule in place. I'm the Pack Alpha, so if anybody can corner and cure me, then that's an automatic victory for the human side.”

 

Everybody roared with delight. Here was Mike offering himself up like the golden snitch, him versus about 70 LARPers.

 

“But...” he interrupted. “If I get a hold of Lord Vanquisher and turn him into a werewolf, then that's an automatic victory for me. So stay on task and defend your king, got it?”

 

They screamed. They were ready.

 

Chuck kind of felt like he was going to sink into the ground before Mike reached behind him and thumped the small of his back. He spoke quietly, just to Chuck. “Keep your back straight, buddy. You're doing good.”

 

He couldn't help but whimper. “I forgot about the win condition.”

 

“You had a lot of info to put out there. Don't worry about it. You were great.” He chuckled from deep in his chest. “Gonna need my werewolf beads, though.”

 

“Oh- right. Duh.” Chuck took off the beads he was wearing and put them back in the big baggy o' beads for Mike. He raised his voice for the crowd. “All right, Wild Wolf's getting a head start to get set up in the field! Everybody else line up for your glowsticks! Once everybody's equipped, the game begins! 15 minute break every top of the hour, so set your watches!”

 

He passed the bag over to Mike, who pocketed it in his jacket's inner lining. “And- thanks again, Mikey. This never would have worked without you.”

 

“I wouldn't have even been here without you,” Mike countered. “Relax. This is gonna be fun. Not gonna pull any punches on you, either.”

 

“Oh please, don't!” Chuck whispered. “We've got so many more people than I was expecting. Get whoever you can get.”

 

In the dark, it almost felt like Mike's voice dropped an octave, but it hadn't. His shoulders took on a new tension, though, and a fierce glint played across his eyes as he spoke. “Oh, it's not me you have to worry about.”

 

He left on that enigmatic note, leaping off the electrical box and disappearing into the lot. It shouldn't have made his spine tingle, but it did. At least it did until Thurman knocked on the electrical box asking for his glowstick. Time to get serious. The night was young, and there was a werewolf on the loose.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It hadn't been two minutes into the game that Julie stopped in her tracks. “Hey, guys? I think I wanna be a werewolf. You go on ahead.”

 

“Jules! Come on!” Claire tucked her shoulders in. The hallway wasn't dirty, or badly lit, or even all that intimidating on its own, but still... “Don't leave me alone with these guys!”

 

“What's wrong with us?” Dutch asked. “Besides, as long as we stick together, we're werewolf proof!”

 

“That's a good point!” said Texas. “How are we supposed to fight off killer werewolves if they're too scared to come near my rippling pecs?”

 

Claire whispered. “Please don't leave me alone with them!”

 

“You guys will be fine,” said Julie. “Really. Besides, I kinda wanna be on the underdog team. No pun intended.”

 

“Ha!” Texas laughed. “Pun!”

 

“I dunno. Any team with Mike on it is hardly the underdog.” Dutch mused to himself. “But... being a human doesn't really sound fun until there's more werewolves either.”

 

“Why don't you guys just explore for a while. Get a lay of the land?” Julie sat herself down on a jutting out panel. “Just don't tell anybody I'm a werewolf, and I promise I won't play dirty.”

 

Claire sighed, resigned. “All right. If your convinced, there's no stopping you.”

 

“Hey, let's see if we can make it to the top!” Dutch suggested.

 

“Good idea!” Texas vaulted ahead. “Great place for a scouting position!”

 

Dutch shrugged and walked with Claire. “I was just gonna get some panoramic shots for Tennie.”

 

“Julie told me about her!” Claire matched his steps, suddenly interested. “The girlfriend, right? You've gotta tell me all about her! Is she cute? What does she wear?”

 

As their voices faded into the distance, Julie smiled and held out a hand.

 

Mike dropped from the ceiling and put the beads right into her palm. “Knew the whole time, didn't you?”

 

“I was suspicious.” Julie put the beads into her vest pocket and pulled out her 'costume' from another: a black and red set of ears on a headband. She made it just for tonight, and finally, she had a chance to wear it. She slipped it on and sighed with relief. “How do I look?”

 

“Like a fellow alpha. Welcome to the pack.” Mike helped her to her feet and gave her a little fist bump. “Come on, lemme show you The Den.”

 

Mike slipped right back into the ceiling, wiggling through a crack in the roof to walk along the top. This was where he had his biggest advantage, and as long as time permitted, he was going to teach the rest of his temporary team the same. Waiting until Julie was up and through, Mike walked her through a twisting path that doubled back on itself a few times and lead to a satellite dish lying upside down like a great hammock. It was easily big enough for a dozen, but right now, it only sat three: Mike, Julie, and another player.

 

“Julie, meet Mad Dog the Conqueror.”

 

Mad Dog was a very large man in a short bathrobe and khakis, wielding an umbrella lance and wearing a bucket on his head. His chest hair went on for miles. “Enchante, my lady.” He reared back for a howl. “Aroo!”

 

“Oh man, we gotta do that at some point.” Mike sat on the opposite side of the dish, with Julie taking a seat next to him. “Once we've got around 30 wolves? All of us howling through the whole yard? Gonna be intense.”

 

“Do we have a game plan for reaching 30 werewolves?” asked Julie. “We're kind of a small pack, as it is.”

 

“We hunt like the mad dogs we are!” Mad Dog talked with grand gesticulations of his oven-mitted hands. “Doggedly pursuing our prey until they collapse from exhaustion! And then... we STRIKE!”

 

“Yeah, or we could use the method that doesn't take several hours.” Mike said it gently, mostly in a joke that left Mad Dog fake pouting on the other side. “It's all a matter of picking your target and isolating them. Stick to the ceilings and side paths, don't fall into the trap of tracking them in the hallways, and stay quiet. We can't play the intimidation card until there's more of us.”

 

Mad Dog clutched at his spear. “Then I shall obtain for us more wolves! My first target shall be my loyal dragon!”

 

“I can't go after the rest of the guys yet,” Julie explained. “I promised.”

 

“If you can manage it, try for the ones that are...” Mike cast an overt glance to Mad Dog over his shoulder, speaking to Julie low. “You know... manueverable.”

 

Julie nodded. “Yeah, we'll need that on our side... what made you pick Mad Dog?”

 

Mad Dog answered for her with wild sweeping waves of his spear. “Mad Dog seeks VENGEANCE for his fallen dragon! Mad Dog will bring down the Lord Vanquisher from his mighty throne!”

 

“Mad Dog will talk with a little less enthusiasm?” Julie braced her hands against the satellite dish, letting Mike grasp at rebar for balance. “He's rocking the boat a little.”

 

Mad Dog, graciously, pulled himself into a little ball. “Sorry. You know, my dad says the best way to keep me from talking is to hold my hands? Barry tried that once, and it worked! Um, Barry's the dragon, by the way.”

 

“Good to know!” said Julie.

 

“You go ahead, Mad Dog, I'mma get Julie up to speed.” Mike waved Mad Dog over to the center of the dish and counted out 10 necklaces for him. Mad Dog put them in his bathrobe pocket. “Once you catch someone, give them half. If you run out, come back here. I'll leave a stash. If we hit break time before that, come see me on the sly and I'll resupply you.”

 

“You got it, Pack Alpha Wild Wolf!” Mad Dog saluted. “To the hunt! Aroooo!”

 

Him leaving made the dish jiggle, and instead of sitting on the far side, Mike and Julie tucked themselves into the middle. Mike reached blindly into the bag and passed Julie a massive tangle of beads, easily more than he gave Mad Dog.

 

“Wow, you've got a lot of faith in me.”

 

“No offense to Mad Dog,” Mike admitted, “But I wouldn't be surprised if he just charged into a group and yelled-” Mike struck ridiculous poses with his hands and lowered his voice to match Mad Dog's. “'I am the Mad Wolf! Fear me! Hw-chaa!'” He coughed. “Sorry, that turned into Texas there. But you? You're gonna take a chunk out of their side, easy.”

 

“And I am looking forward to it.” Julie stuffed the new beads into another pocket, loosening a few for quick access. “I'll meet you back up here with the new recruits after the first break.”

 

Mike shook his head. “You'll be the one recruiting. I'm gonna scout for Chuck and his posse. See if I can suss out their patrol path.”

 

They stood at the same time, carefully balanced, and Julie had to admit to feeling pretty cool. “You really think Chuck and his pals will have a patrol? With a path?”

 

“He's their king. He's gonna have an entourage, probably the biggest one in the building.” Mike grinned. “And I'm gonna track it. Ready?”

 

“Ready.”

 

“Move out!”

 

Julie dropped from the dish and down through the same path she took to The Den. Mike, meanwhile, immediately went up and along another pipeline. The ceiling made for a clear path to follow, even when the pipe dropped off and he had to swing down to an empty hole that was supposed to be a window, then down the arch of a door frame and into another corridor. Sounds echoed here, but light flickered down the path to his left. He stood still, waiting to catch the rhythm of their footfalls, before making his way towards the source. The click of his boot heels disappeared in the soft rumble of their voices, happily chatting away as he stalked them. Six people in the group, all men, various builds. The ones at the front were the most talkative. One straggler in the back, head down, not participating.

 

“I say we just plop down in a room, smoke a bold or two, and wait until Smiling Dragon wins,” the leader spoke. “Then we spent the rest of the night eating pizza and playing Mario Kart.”

 

“I've got some movies downloaded.”

 

“Let's head upstairs. I don't wanna run into Lord Vanquisher again. Friggin' wet blanket.”

 

Chuck was the other way then. Good. Mike dipped back a touch, just around the corner, and scraped the heel of his boot against the ground. The last person in the group, the one hanging their head the lowest, turned around to try and place the noise. They'd stopped walking. Mike could see them scanning the hall in the reflection of a polished silver pipe. He waited until they were just about to turn around again before making another noise, tapping the pads of his fingers against the wall. It was a soft sound, but it still echoed, and the straggler stepped further away from the safety of the group to check it out. He held his glow stick up high, peering down the hall. “Jeremy? That you?”

 

Mike came in low and dipped to the side, then rushed the guy to pin him against the wall. The guy was a flincher and didn't make a single squeak once he was caught. Mike was almost disappointed. He was so used to Chuck wailing at any little noise that he expected it from anybody. Oh well. Mike patted the guy's shoulder. “Welcome to the pack.”

 

“Oh thank goodness!” the guy sighed. “I was scared I wasn't gonna get to play!”

 

“What's your name?”

 

“U-uh Tim- Weezer! Of the Rivel Neal.”

 

Mike passed him his beads. “Come with me. I'll teach you how to find Jeremy.”

 

“Thanks, Wild Wolf!”

 

With Weezer at his heels, Mike lead him to the crack in the ceiling and pulled him all the way through. As they went, he explained in hushed tones. Weezer nearly had to walk with his chin on Mike's shoulder to hear. “Stay above the other team as much as you can. People never look up; it's instinctive. Some hallways you can feel when they walk, but otherwise stay quiet. Listen for their voices, and if you think they sound too close, stay still. If you think they're onto you, just run. Look for the woman in cat ears; that's Julie, and she's one of us.”

 

Poor little Weezer couldn't climb as well as he could, and he had to hold his hand as they crossed a big gap. “How do you know all this stuff? Have you played this before?”

 

The explanation for that caught in his throat for a painful second. It felt wrong to admit to the guy that he learned all of that from Kane, that it was old training meant for tailing fugitives and capturing... “subversive agents” of Deluxe. He searched for a shade of the truth that didn't sound so harsh. It took him a few seconds. “I just like this kind of stuff. It's fun.”

 

That was all truth. He didn't just like it; he loved every little path he had to balance on and every wall he had to press against to stay hidden. He felt his best in motion, and getting to move and use his tracking skills in a space this big and sprawling, for the whole night, just revved his motor entirely the right way. Doing this with Chuck while scavenging and just exploring for fun was always a blast, but now? Getting to gather a whole new group of potential friends? Teaching the things he loved to somebody willing to listen? It felt like... like being a kid again, when training was playtime and life wasn't so complicated.

 

His wrist comm beeped. The break was starting within a minute. Weezer's wrist comm echoed the time behind him, along with a disappointed “Aw man.”

 

“Hmm. An hour isn't really enough to explore all the way to the upper levels.” Mike patted the bright display away. “How about I talk to Lord Vanquisher during the break and see if we can't get the time extended?”

 

Weezer grinned so big, his braces reflected the light of his glow stick.

 

Within a minute, the lot emptied out into the club room. The air rang with the sound of soda cans popping open. A small line formed for the bathroom. Mike told Weezer to not talk to him, just in case someone got suspicious that he was a werewolf. Weezer didn't need prompting, instead leaving to find this illusive Jeremy he'd mentioned. Mike's eyes swept the room, and he found his target fast; a tall green cloak standing out over the crowd. “Hey, Chuckles! Over here!”

 

“Hey Mikey!” Chuck turned and lowered his hood. “How's it- oh, wait, I shouldn't ask you how it's going, should I?”

 

“Nah, probably not.” Mike got close enough to put an arm around Chuck's shoulder. “Listen, I'm having trouble covering ground in just an hour. Can we cut down the breaks? Maybe skip the next one?”

 

“You're not the first one to ask,” Chuck admitted. He yelled to whole room loud enough to make Mike cover his closer ear. “OKAY EVERYBODY, POPULAR VOTE'S IN! WE SKIP THE NEXT BREAK! TWO HOURS IN THE FIELD OF BATTLE!”

 

The crowd cheered. Drinks were toasted. The bathroom line got longer. Mike laughed. “Thanks.”

 

“Hey, thank you! I'm glad for the feedback!” Chuck batted at his bangs, wiping away a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked so relaxed, completely content with where he was. No flinching, no cowering, no sign of that resting frowny face Mike saw so often. It gripped at Mike's heart, made him feel even better about being here. His friend was happy. He deserved to be happy more often. “We are still kind of in the beta testing phase, after all.”

 

The thought made him laugh. “You don't beta test life, Chuckles.”

 

“HEY, look everybody, it's Texas!” Texas dipped into their little pocket of conversation, holding two water bottles in each hand. “I've got regular water in one hand and I've got watered-down sweet potato wine water in the other.” He froze. “... I can't remember which one is which. The obvious answer is to take one of each.”

 

Chuck waved a hand, passing on the drinks. Mike nodded. “Alpha wolf's gotta keep his senses sharp, Texas. I'll pass.”

 

“Lemme try one!” Claire reached for a bottle. “This has been pretty cool! Motorcity's not so bad when I don't have to talk to anybody.”

 

“Okay, wow, Claire, that doesn't hurt at all.” Julie dipped under Claire's arm and just took a bottle from Texas, sipping it herself. “Okay, this one's the alcohol. Go ahead.”

 

Mike let himself get a little distracted by the girls leaving lipstick prints on the bottle before tuning back in to the conversation. “Catch any werewolves yet?”

 

“No.” Texas struck a pose too fast and launched one of the bottles across the room and into the wall, making that half of the room jump (including Chuck, but only Mike felt it). “One mean hombre tried to sneak up on us, though. Texas and Dutch took him out with a one-two double punch with my plus three battleaxe! HWOO-DA-LAAAA-yeah!”

 

Dutch rubbed at his temple. “And then it turned out they weren't a werewolf. They just wanted out of the game early.”

 

Chuck pointed out one guy who was voraciously hooking up a Rock Band set. “That guy?”   
  
Dutch nodded. “How'd you guess?”

 

Chuck threw his hood back on. “The lord of the land knows his vassals.” Down went the hood. “Also that's Mason, and if Todd's here, Todd brings Rock Band and Mason likes Rock Band a whole lot more than LARPing.”

 

The bathroom line was starting to finally peter out. Mike could feel, even through the thick fabric of the cloak, that Chuck was starting to twitch and shiver like he did whenever he held on for too long. He let his arm fall with a quick pat to his shoulder. “Ready to get back out there?”

 

“You bet! I- oh wait I should-” Chuck stepped back and nearly dropped straight down with a sharp yelp. Mike caught him by the arms, and in the process, found what had happened; they'd both stepped on the hem of Chuck's cloak. Poor Chuckles was bright red as he found his footing. “I uh... I'm gonna bathroom while it's empty... Can you hold this?”

 

“Sure thing, pal.” He felt a little like a coat rack as Chuck pulled the cloak over his head and draped it on his arms. The inside was warm, and for lack of anything better to do with it, he tucked it around his shoulders and wore it like a blanket while he talked with Julie and Dutch. He had to bunch it so it wouldn't drag the ground. Chuck was so tall, taller than him even if just by a couple inches, and that was no small feat.

 

“Texas believes that this game belongs to the humans!” He posed again, making everyone in that direction preemptively flinch. “Unless the werewolves somehow get a hold of me, in which case this game belongs to the werewolves. Basically whoever has me wins.”

 

Claire sipped at her sweet potato water. “You live in your own little world, don't you?”

 

“Nope! Everybody else lives in Texas' world!”

 

“Lookin' cozy there, Wild Wolf,” Dutch snickered. “You gonna give that back to Chuck, or you gonna keep it and track him by smell?”

 

Mike laughed. “Nah, that wouldn't work even if I could track him by smell. Now I'm covered in...” He took a quick sniff. “Smell of... Febreeze. And sweat.”

 

Dutch and Julie both chimed in with matching “ews” while Claire nearly gagged on her drink. Only out of the corner of his eye did Mike catch sight of Chuck, watching him and shivering and checking his periphery to make sure he wasn't caught doing it. The sight made heat burn across the backs of his shoulders before he could really process why it did.

 

The break was up. Back into the hunting grounds.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Lord Vanquisher knew his territory well. He had traversed these plains both on foot and atop the back of a wild raving beast known only as Mutt. Many a time, only his True Knowledge of the roads and hidden paths of the deep wood kept his people safe from those that would destroy them. In this, he was certain. This new thicket, though, this bramble of tangling vines and tunnels was still a mystery. Thusly, he and his league of knights had but one mission: cartography.

 

He stopped at a fork in the path. Flaring his cloak out as he sat upon the ground, he called. “Knights of the Light! Assemble!”

 

His retinue of his closest friends and allies (for LARPing anyway), Daryslayer and Thurman the Magnificent and the Oracle, all held aloft their torches to light his pen and parchment.

 

“With all due respect, my king,” said Celestia, the Spinner of Dreams. “We have better tools at our disposal-”

 

“Hold thy tongue, knave!” Sian Willowmere of the East Gate flashed a dagger. “To use such magicks in the hunt would be unsporting! The werewolves fight us only their teeth and claws, and thus shall we- uuh- sub- subdue?”

 

Celestia tossed her hair. “You're just saying that 'cause you're a tryhard.”

 

“Shut _up_ , Amna!”

 

“You're only angry because I'm right, _Shawna_!”

 

Chuck stood and folded his map back into his pocket. He warned in his best Lord of the Land voice. “Silence, subjects. Out magics put out light; no more, no less. Fighting amongst the ranks is unbecoming.”

 

Really, Chuck just liked the idea of drawing a big paper map for immersion's sake. Using the comm signal was definitely cheating, especially since he had all the Burner's numbers and he could just look up where they were via his tracking program. Having a map was a must in his eyes. It was the one edge he could think of that could put him over Mike. Mike goddamn-good-at-everything Chilton probably had half the lot memorized already, but Mike everybody-must-be-as-cool-as-me Chilton was just as likely to assume all the other players did too. Lord Vanquisher took care of his subjects, and if they all had their own copies of the map to keep from being lost and scope out potential werewolf attack points... then, hell, he was so winning this!

 

“And that's another thing!” said Celestia. “When are we gonna fight a werewolf?” Celestia, who was probably more her player now than before, pulled up her wrist comm to check the time. “We've been drawing maps since we started the game. I wanna fight dudes!”

 

Sian Willowmere dropped into Shawna. “You just want Mike Chilton to tackle you in the dark.”

 

Darkslayer Ruby groaned. “OH my god, kiss already!”

 

Lord Vanquisher only sighed and rubbed at his temples. It was unavoidable, really. Celestia, the Spinner of Dreams was more of a fighter to Sian Willowmere's diplomatic bard. This happened whenever they were on the same party together. He made a note on his map before tearing off a sheet of paper from the back of the book and passing it to Celestia. “All right, let's split the party. All who would follow Celestia, take the path to the right. Those with me, stay the course on the path to the left. Fight valiantly, my kinsman, and make note of the path you follow.”

 

CelestiAmna's whole group split off in a run, whooping and hollering and making such a racket that they could be heard all the way down the pathway. The Knights of the Light plus Sian Willowmere stayed, watching them in befuddled silence. Chuck checked the ceiling while he rolled his eyes. There was an open panel above them. He noted it on the map.

 

“Well,” spake The Oracle. “The Knights of the Light remain united in our quest against the werewolf scourge.”

 

“They're not a scourge!” Thurman the Magnificent defended, “They're victims of a terrible curse!”

 

“Nuh-uh!” The Darkslayer whispered, as if the werewolves might hear them. “They're partners in an unholy pact, forged in a lust for unlimited power!”

 

It couldn't be helped. The five of them immediately dove into their best Emperor Palpatine pose and wailed. “UNLIMITED! POWAAAAAH!”

 

Their laughter filled the halls where Celestia's war cries before had tainted the air. Lord Vanquisher straightened his shoulders and took to the head of the party. “Gather, knights! We must venture forth!”

 

Venturing was its own reward for a while, because Cabler structures were really pretty when viewed from the nice stable ground. Chuck did feel the need to break up a party of campers smoking weed and watching movies, but at least he knew that dead end and how to avoid it now. Who would go through all the trouble to dress up in gear and make character sheets just to hide in a room and watch movies? It ticked him off, but he waited until out of earshot to complain about it to the Knights of the Light.

 

Perhaps he complained too loudly, for in the distance, Lord Vanquisher heard a cry for help. It was a small whimper, and character dropped along with the pit of his stomach as he hurried towards the noise. “I hear crying! Who's out there? Are you okay?”

 

“Over here...” Over in a side hall, sitting with his glowstick on the ground beside him, Crow of the River Neal waved them down.

 

“Jeremy!” Chuck dropped to his knees next to the guy. “You okay? What happened?”

 

“I'm okay,” Jeremy explained. “I was climbing stuff and I slipped and came down hard on my funny bone.”

 

The knights all shuddered in collective sympathy pain. Chuck patted his shoulder. “I understand, dude. Does anything hurt too bad? Can you still move everything?” He checked up and down Jeremy's shoulder with soft squeezes, feeling for hot skin or bleeding or any flinches on Jeremy's behalf. Nothing felt out of place, or warm, and Jeremy only shook his head. His fingers didn't even twitch when Chuck touched his elbow. Interesting.

 

“I'm okay, I think. It just hurt a lot. I'm okay now, yeah.” Jeremy stood with Chuck's help and cleared his throat, picking up his glowstick again. “With my Lord Vanquisher's permission, may I join the party and help to fight the werewolves?”

 

“Your king grants this.” Lord Vanquisher's cloak fell open as he gestured to his right side. “Here. You can walk right next to me.”

 

There it was, the flicker of hesitation across his face. Jeremy might have been fine, but Crow of the River Neal was up to something. He could hear the subtle shift of weight as his party started to handle their weapons. “Steady, knights. He has given us no reason to doubt him.”

 

Crow was so very unsettled, though, that he had to hide a little grin when he finally did take the spot. Lord Vanquisher had him surrounded on all sides by the best knights in the kingdom, blocking his escape route back and watching his route forward. It was just a matter of waiting it out, to see if his instincts could be trusted.

 

Until then? “So, character dropped for a second, how you liking the session?”

 

“It's pretty great!” said Jeremy. “I finally found Tim! He was off with the-”

 

“Hold on, character back up if you're talking about groups and stuff.” Lord Vanquisher steadied himself. “So, you were looking for Weezer of the River Neal?”

 

“Oh yes, sire!” Crow answered with just as much enthusiasm. “He had been absconded by his foul brother's party, but was able to escape from their foul clutches with ease! For-”

 

Lord Vanquisher withheld a gasp, checking with The Oracle as Crow babbled. The Oracle met his eyes, and knowing his thoughts, he nodded. Weezer of the River Neal was the blood brother of the foul and licentious Doomfist the Killmaster, and it was he and his ilk who the Knights of the Light had thoroughly shamed for abandoning their quest to pipeweed and theatre. His party had lacked Weezer, however. His wide-eyed and innocent, if disheartened, visage could not be missed amongst such a crowd of ruffians.

 

He waited until their path was a straightaway, with no branches off that could be seen from the end, before signalling the Knights. Before Crow's unbelieving eyes, every party member drew their weapon, and Lord Vanquisher tossed his cloak over his shoulder to stand proudly.

 

“Crow of the River Neal, by my word as Lord Vanquisher,” he bellowed. “I accuse you of lycanthropy. By my hands, though shall be healed. What say you in your defense?”

 

“I'm not a wolf! I'm not!” Crow cowered from the party as they encroached. “Please, I don't wanna be out! I just found a party again!”

 

“And though shalt stay in the game, as one of us!” Lord Vanquisher cracked his knuckles. “Knights! Attack-”

 

Sian Willowmere screamed as something fell on her from above.

 

The party dispersed from the point with wails of their own, Lord Vanquisher's being the loudest: it was Weezer, snarling and barking to Crow. Lord Vanquisher only had time to yelp “I KNEW IT!” before Crow and Weezer darted in and out amongst the warriors. The Oracle tripped into the wall. Lord Vanquisher's cloak got tugged over his eyes. Darkslayer landed only a glancing blow as the two lithe wolfs darted between Thurman's legs and set chase to Sian, who screamed and doubled back down the hall.

 

“SIAN, NO!” Lord Vanquisher wailed. “DON'T SPLIT THE PARTY! Come on, guys, hurry!”

 

Holding their torches ahead of them, they set chase to the werewolves. Ahead of them they could hear the cacophony of a body hitting the metal ground, the scream of terror, (the giggle of Shawna going “Ow that tickles cut it out! The other pocket.”), and finally a great snarl. When they found Sian, it was in the middle of a deep howl to the moon with her new wolf brothers.

 

“Come on, knights!” Darkslayer readied her sword. “Let us defeat these foul beasts!”

 

“No, Darkslayer!” The Oracle stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “We are met three to four! We cannot hope to overpower them!”

 

“A wise decision, weak and pitiful humans!” Sian Willowmere gave one last howl before escaping into the dark with Crow and Weezer. Their lights disappeared up the hallway- literally up, as they jumped onto a window frame for height and pulled themselves through a hole in the ceiling. Lord Vanquisher stood below as a dawning horror fell upon him.

 

“They ARE up in the rafters! I knew I was right marking the ceiling!” Lord Vanquisher made a note to the map, as well as writing down the names of the three confirmed werewolves. “Come on! We have to catch up with Celestia's group to get our numbers back!”

 

Thurman snorted in rage! “I can't believe we got the Wounded Gazelle Gambit! And then fell for it!”

 

Chuck held his shoulder tight. “Don't berate yourself for showing compassion to a wounded comrade. It reflects poorly on them, not you. Now hurry up before they come back!”

 

Lord Vanquisher lead, mentally turning the map along with them as they raced to Celestia's group. They met in a broad, clear room where the others were mock-battling a rival faction. “Cease, warriors! The werewolves fell upon us and took one of our numbers! Everybody headcount!”

 

The headcount came up fast: fourteen of them total, the lucky number, with Celestia's faction, the Astroknights, making up the bulk of the party along with the Warriors of Nintendia. Lord Vanquisher explained the dire situation, how they lost Sian Willowmere to the River Neal werewolves and how the Killmaster's Hoarde had done basically nothing to stop them. The Astroknights shared their disdain of the Killmaster faction, and their jealous that Lord Vanquisher's knights had found a werewolf before them. The Warriors of Nintendia proposed an assault on the rafters and seeking out the werewolves' den.

 

That gave Lord Vanquisher pause. “Why do you think they have a den?”

 

“Would you be a werewolf without a den? Every werewolf has gotta have a den!” Captain Warhammer smiled, proud and tall. “The Mighty One told me so.”

 

He thought for a moment. Did he know any players named 'The Mighty One'? None that he could remember. “Hey, uh, out of character, which one's The Mighty One?”

 

“ **HWOO-Cha-aaaaaaaaah!** ”

 

Maybe if he pulled his cloak tight enough he could hide in it. “Oh god.”

 

Texas stormed in like a raging bull, fending off the other players with karate chops and mock punches. “Nobody panic, Texas is here to save the day!”

 

Behind him, with no pomp or circumstance, came Dutch and Claire. Dutch waved. “Hey, Lord Vanquisher.”

 

“Well met, squires...” Lord Vanquisher greeted with no real enthusiasm. “How fares the hunt?”

 

Claire bounced with a tiny little “oo!” of excitement. “We did manage to catch a guy!”

 

Lord Vanquisher asked, “Was he a werewolf?”

 

Dutch and Claire winced. Texas chuffed, “Nuh-uh.”

 

“Did you _think_ he was a werewolf?”

 

“No. But he went down with honor!”

 

The Warriors of Nintendia were laughing while the Astroknights groaned. Lord Vanquisher swiped his face for a few calming seconds. “Texas, stop killing our guys! Who's _helping you_ kill our guys?! That's two now!”

 

Claire waved a teasing, petite little wave. “It's so easy to do! I can, like, totally see why you're into this now, Chuck!”

 

“Little lady has a lust for blood and violence that Texas approves of!” Texas posed. “Also it's actually four! Caught some rogues makin' out on the top floor.”

 

Dutch cut in before Chuck could protest. “Hey, they wanted out at that point. They were _way_ more interested in each other.”

 

Claire pulled two glow sticks out of her fanny pack. “They said you could have these back, 'cause they were gonna get a room.”

 

“I don't believe this!” Chuck was so tempted to pull his hair! He could feel the anger building up at the base of his spine. “Why would you show up for one of the biggest sessions of the year not to play? You know what, that's another question- has anybody else 'killed' anybody?”

 

Lady Stardew of Nintendia raised a hand. “Me and Warhammer did, but we really did think Knight Elder Scroll was a werewolf.”

 

Lord Vanquisher acquiesed. “Fair game, Lady Stardew. Anybody else?”

 

One of the Astroknights raised their hand. “I did see, like, seven people heading to the clubhouse out a window a while ago.”

 

The crowd murmured in worry. Lord Vanquisher couldn't help the squeak of panic. “You're kidding! Seven?!”

 

“Maybe? I wasn't counting at first!” He lowered his voice. “I only noticed them because there were so many.”

 

Dutch spoke up, worry pinching his eyebrows together. “I dunno, that seems like a lot. Are we sure they're actually 'killed', or are they just ditching?”

 

“I'll have to ask them on the next break.” Chuck checked his watch. 6 minutes until the next time out. Not too long, but with the new tension on his back, it might drag a little. “But a whole group dropping out like that doesn't usually happen, not with big multi-group sessions like this one.”

 

The Astroknight piped back in. “I-I guess I should- see, it wasn't the whole group at the same time. I was sitting by the window; they all filed out one at a time, like, staggered. I only started counting when I noticed, so I think it was seven? It might've been, like... _more_.”

 

“Woah...” said Texas. “That's a lotta killing going on.”

 

The pattern made sense. Chuck gasped. “That's not ditching. That's-”

 

Someone hollered from a hallway. “Sanctuary SANCTUARY I DON'T WANNA BE OUT!”

 

Out from the hall spilled a thin little guy: Calven Stickywicket, a bard with all of Chuck's thin and bony build but none of his height. He ran like Mutt off a ramp, whites of his one eye gleaming in the dark. That was no ordinary run, it was a panic, and the laughter that followed him was the obvious cause.

 

The reaction was immediate. Lord Vanquisher dove forward, wrapping Calven in his cloak to hide him while the warriors made a circle around them. The Burners stuck close to Chuck, all except for Texas. He dove to the front line, battleaxe in one hand and gunchucks in another, whooping his battle cries. Whoever was after him wouldn't reach him tonight.

 

From the dark, not a glowstick in sight, came the Killmaster's Hoarde. Doomfist was probably the biggest player they had in width and height. He had the raw strength to wear actual metal on his armor without any of the exercise to keep him fit underneath it all. In sheer force of presence, he filled almost the whole hall. It might have been his entourage, though: The Hoarde always played things a little bigger, a little darker, a lot harsher than the rest of the Motorcity LARPers. When they played, at least, which was only when it was around their turf, or when they could be bothered, or there was a nice-looking trophy on the line.

 

Calven Stickywicket stuck his nose out of the cloak to breathe. “They came out of nowhere! It was pitch black- I-I didn't even see them!”

 

“Don't steal the kill, short stuff,” announced Doomfist, tapping on Texas's shoulder. “That's our werewolf.”

 

Texas smacked the hand away so hard, the metal of his wrist guard bent.

 

“I'm not! I swear!” Calven squeaked. “I called times because I couldn't see! Malik was going to get me a spare glowstick from the clubhouse and he never came back!”

 

The Hoarde laughed. One of the knaves smacked his weapon, a very heavy and very real baseball bat, against his palm. “Yeah, and he won't be, either!”

 

Chuck was starting to feel his blood boil. First not participating, then bullying a player so delicate he ran to him for protection: “Doomfist” was down two strikes already. “What'd you do to Malik, _Todd_?”

 

Doomfist “Todd” the Killmaster laughed. “You heard it, everybody! Lord Vanquisher broke character! He's out of the game.”

 

Darkslayer raised her sword. “Answer the question.”

 

Todd shrugged one shoulder. “He's out of the game. Him and the whole Little Village squad except for Calven.”

 

Chuck did quick math in his head. That was a 10 person group, all of them taken out by the Killmaster Hoarde of 19. He swallowed hard. His limbs felt heavy, even for how hard he was shivering. “Well, Calven's in my group now, so call off the chase. We have to work together to defeat the werewolves.”

 

Killmaster swung out his homemade, crude metal battleaxe. It swung easily right over Texas' head. “Real easy to be brave behind a wall of meat, isn't it, _Lord Vanquisher_?”

 

The jab would've stabbed him through the heart if the break timer hadn't gone off right then and there. He still screamed, and the Killmaster's Hoarde had their laugh all the way back down the hall where they came from. “See you at the break room, meat! Hahaha!”

 

Calven clung to Chuck. “D-did they mean me... or you?”

 

Chuck forced himself to breathe again. “Yeah.”

 

Texas popped his knuckles. “Okay. That guy's getting punched in the nads.”

 

Maybe this could get Texas to understand. Chuck spoke up. “That's what we call a 'griefer', Texas. He's only here to make the game miserable for everybody else. That's how he has his fun. He's probably player killing: not following the rules, not trying to roleplay, and definitely not checking to see who's a werewolf or not.”

 

Hand on his heart, the other raised in the air, Texas apologized. “Texas has realized the error of his ways. I promise to use my awesome skills for good for the rest of the night, not for dickishness.”

 

Claire, subdued, raised a hand herself. “I'm sorry too.”

 

“Can't we kick him out of the game for that?” asked Dutch.

 

“You try telling a guy that big anything!” Chuck wailed. “It's just one night... Maybe if we give him a wide berth we can still have fun. We have four blocks worth of territory to cover.”

 

“Speaking of covering territory,” said Calven. “I think I need to use the bathroom now.”

 

The clubhouse was a little more dour this time, when Chuck made his sweep to check on everyone eliminated. Calven's whole team had, indeed, been PK'd by Todd's group. More than them, too: the total came to 13, all done in by the Killmaster's Hoarde. They were down to 60 players on the field. What was worse, with the intel the PK'd players had given him: Todd and his gang had only started doing the serious griefing in the last half hour.

 

Chuck calculated. That was about the time he'd broken up their 'movie break'.

 

This wasn't just griefing. This was retaliation.

 

“Hey Chuck! I wish I could tell you stuff- the game is awesome! I-” Mike stopped in his tracks, standing over the distressed pool of players over by the fridge. He was a little... glossy, for lack of a better word. Being a werewolf must have made him work up a sweat. It was a nice look, Chuck thought distantly, if he were in a better mood. “Woah. Everybody okay?”

 

One player explained. “We're out.”

 

“We were all slain by Doomfist,” added another.

 

“Wait, you're _out_ out?” Mike said. “So, somebody thought you were werewolves and-”

 

“It-” Chuck cut in. “Would take a while to explain. Don't worry about it.”

 

“But I do wanna worry about it! I was scoping some of you guys out for the pack,” said Mike. “Tell me everything.”

 

Explaining took the entire break. By the time Chuck was done, Mike said nothing. He stood, frowning, and gave Chuck two pats on the shoulder and Calven a squeeze on the arm. He left the club room without a drink of water, or a bathroom break, or a snack, or even really a word in edgewise. He'd just... listened.

 

Chuck felt like a heel. Here he was ruining Mike's first serious LARP session with drama and inter-group politics. If he'd kept his mouth shut, everything would still be fine. He brought Calven along with him. He felt like a total jerk. Nice going, “Lord Vanquisher”, you invited griefers into the big fun event and they were here overnight. Great, just great...

 

Back at the den, space was running out. There were eleven to the pack now, including Mad Dog's dragon, the River Neal packmates, and Sian Willow-were. They sat around the satellite dish, glow sticks and spare beads collected in the center to make a shimmering “fire”. When Mike entered the circle, he shed his jacket and tossed it to the floor. Before, he'd just been hot and sweaty and enjoying himself, but now? Now the heat felt different. The jacket felt too confining. In just his shirt, he could breath, and he could think, and he could let the little flame of anger in the pit of his gut light a fuse inside him.

 

“Tonight,” he ordered. “We take out the Killmaster Hoarde.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

****

“THE Killmaster Hoarde?” Mad Dog gulped out loud, and even his dragon cowered behind him. “Oh no, we don't usually touch those guys. They, like, actually hit people.”

 

Weezer flinched at the idea of them. “They aren't really LARPers so much as a gang that doesn't wanna do the work to be a _real_ gang.”

 

“They're killing players out of spite,” Mike explained, standing where the other were sitting down. “Lord Vanquisher just saved a guy from them before the break, some shrimpy dude with a missing eye.”

 

Crow gasped, gripping onto Weezer's shoulder. “That's Calven Stickywicket!”

 

Julie recoiled, disgusted by this Killmaster guy already. “They went after a dude with a missing eyeball?”

 

“And without light sources, which means they're probably tracking people with their wrist comms.” Mike took a knee, leaning in so everyone could put their heads together. “We're changing our play style from here. Travel in threes, and turn anyone that's willing to help us in the fight against the Hoarde. Until they're out of the game, we're defending.”

 

Sian asked, “Defending... ourselves?”

 

“Defending our territory.” His voice was rough with anger. “They're in our turf, attacking our humans and stealing our potential pack mates. If this goes on, there won't be anyone left to turn, and everybody loses.”

 

“Should we turn Lord Vanquisher?” asked Weezer. “I mean, the game would just be over and we could-”

 

“No!” he snarled. “We're not ending the entire night because of one rowdy bunch of pups. I know how to deal with people like them. Julie, you're with me.”

 

Julie nodded. “Right.”

 

“Doomfist takes advantage of his numbers, by the sound of it. He probably won't bother with the small parties. He'll be going after Lord Vanquisher's army.” Mike stood. “When I give the signal, converge on our location and be ready to attack.”

 

“Attack? Like, the whole Hoarde?!” Mad Dog's dragon squealed. “Will we be able to do anything against them?”

 

“You will if you turn enough fighters,” said Mike.

 

Sian asked, eyes bright and alert in the glow stick “fire”. “What's the signal?”

 

Mike thumped his chest. “ _We're a wolf pack._ What else would the signal be?”

 

The wolf pack shivered in anticipation, excitedly squeaking and whispering amongst themselves about 'the signal'. Mike felt a smile tugging at his lips, but he couldn't let it loose yet. There was the Hoarde to deal with, and then it would be playtime again. “Everybody get your beads. We're rolling out.”

 

Julie wiggled on her feet while the satellite dish rocked. Every pack member lunged for their glow sticks and beads at the same time... every pack member except Mike, who stood tall and straight and watched them all scramble. He looked bothered.

 

“Penny for your thoughts, oh Wild Wolf?” she asked. “You look like you're taking this kinda personally.”

 

“There's a bully messing with my friends,” Mike answered, not looking at her, distracted. He couldn't get the mental image of that Doomfist guy looming over Chuck with that big metal axe Calven described. The idea made his gut twist. “This is good clean fun and he's ruining it.”

 

With a little chuckle, Julie gently elbowed him in the arm. “Nobody messes with Chuck except you, right?”

 

It's like she could look into his head. The mental image shifted, of him looming over Chuck instead, with a smile instead of an axe and Chuckles' nervous whimpers being- That same rush of heat went over his shoulders. When he shook himself back to attention, Julie was staring at him.

 

“Are... you okay?” Julie held the back of her hand to his arm. “You're flushed.”

 

“My mind wandered...” Mike wiped at his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyebrows. “Just getting way into the game.”

 

“Well come on, let's go find this guy before he ruins anyone else's night.”

 

Mike nodded. (Although, he supposed, even the out players didn't have their night entirely ruined. They were back at the clubhouse eating pizza and taking turns at Rock Band.) Instead he set off from the Den and took off for the last place he'd noticed this Doomfist punk. It stuck out in his mind easily; it reeked of pot. After that it was just a matter of following the faint trace of that smell and the little bits of candy wrappers and chip crumbs the nimrods left behind.

 

“I hear voices,” Julie whispered. “10 o' clock. Sounds like Chuck.”

 

“Converge.” It was a distraction, sure, but he had to check on Chuck. They were a couple stories up by this point. Getting down to the ground would be a lot harder is the Hoarde decided to do anything stupid. The further up they got, the more open the floor plan became. Roofs were open and unfinished, and the rough framework made for a perfect catwalk across the floors, but without the cover of wall panels they were easy to spot. Mike kept to the shadows, worried the artificial moon would reflect off his t-shirt. He climbed into a comfortable space and waited for Julie to join him.

 

Chuck, down below, with the moon shining off the gloss of his cloak, addressed a small crowd of about 20 players. “Everybody feeling okay? Everybody equipped? We should have time to talk: I don't think Todd will think to climb all the way up to this floor just to bother us. I've been crunching the numbers: none of us have left each other's sight since the break, so assuming every other player is a werewolf, then we're... losing. Literally the only thing keeping us ahead in the numbers is Doomfist the Killmaster and his group.”

 

“So, what's that mean?” Texas punched at the air. “That mean it's finally wolf season?”

 

“It... feels weird to say these words together, but yes: _Texas has got the right idea_.”

 

Mike and Julie stifled a laugh. Mike, quietly, was proud of his buddy. Look at him out there, standing up for his friends and being in charge. Even now, he could see that Chuck had Calven tucked under his arm. Calven must've been around their age. Hell, Calven could've been older than them, for all Mike knew. Either way, Chuck was protective him from the big, overpowered brutes who'd try to stomp all over them and tell them how to have their fun. It was so different, seeing him stand proud and lead and just be as cool as Mike knew he could be.

 

Chuck was still talking, and he was zoning out. It was embarrassing. He tuned back in. “We can finally start playing aggressive from here out. We're gonna travel in threes, stick to small groups and turn everybody, no questions asked. Now, all that said, now there's... a new complication I didn't prepare for...”

 

Chuck explained carefully. “We can't split up yet. Doomfist has got it out for the game, so they're eliminating anyone who gets in their way. I don't have to remind our seasoned players, but for everybody who's new: _do not mess with a guy named Doomfist the Killmaster._ He swings actual weapons to actually hurt, and while I know you guys will play by the rules and fall when you're felled and turn any werewolves, I don't... I don't think Todd will. So, until I can be sure that Todd won't bother anybody, we're sticking by each other. Let's make a circuit, pick up any stragglers we can, and bolster our numbers.”

 

“By turning 'em back, right? Texas wants to do that for real at least once.”

 

“No, not- not until we take care of Todd and his cronies.” Chuck lowered his hood. “As far as I'm concerned, we're on the same side here. Let's make this game safe again. Then we'll go back to playing.”

 

“I am _so invested_ in this story,” Claire squeaked. “Can somebody get me a bigger weapon? I-I'm kind of totally hyped to fight.”

 

“Well, now Claire's a closeted nerd. Maybe we'll win her over yet,” said Julie. “I think I can finally see what you see in Chuck.”

 

“Wh- see in him?” Mike was so glad Julie was good at the KaneCo Quiet talk right now. He was certain he couldn't be heard below. He even relaxed enough to lean back into the cables and rest a little. “Like, why we're friends?”

 

“Yeah,” said Julie. “Like, ever since I met you two, I've been trying to figure out why you two like each other. I figured Chuck would avoid guys like you like the plague.”

 

Mike snickered. “Okay, first off, ow. Second, we get each other, better than anybody else.”

 

He could feel an incoming sharp jab, he knew it. Julie got that look in her eyes whenever they were formulating in her head. “Like how you _got_ that he was a LARPer for almost a whole year before we found out by accident?”

 

“Hey, I said we get each other,” Mike countered. Yep, that one hurt. “I didn't say we were up each other's skirts.”

 

“Okay, that's fair.” Julie cast her eyes down, and Mike returned to watching the little army mill around Chuck and the rest of the Burners. The fire in his gut was subsiding with the quiet, and he could feel the late night starting to roll in. He liked this tall, confident Chuck that could talk and smile and relax. He could watch him all day.

 

His smile fell. Why didn't he see that more often?

 

“I can see you thinking over there.”

 

“Just...I don't know. I never think about it that hard. There's always stuff happening, and Chuck's always right next to me, always screaming and whimpering and doing amazing things anyway, and worrying, and upset...” And he was the reason Chuck was upset most of the time, but he didn't say that out loud. It always made him feel weird. “He's like... in his element here. He's my best friend and I never knew.”

 

Julie almost spoke, then caught herself and stifled it with a laugh. Mike was immediately suspicious. “What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“What?”

 

“Just...” Julie laughed again. “Maybe you need to get up his skirt a little more?”

 

There was his brain, supplying him with another mental image, this time of his hand hovering over Chuck's thigh, just on the edge of touching and making him...

 

His shoulders burned, which apparently meant he was blushing according to Julie, whose eyebrows shot up so he guessed he was. He couldn't finish the picture. He didn't know what Chuck would do. Would he squeal? Would he bat his hands away going “No, bro, stop it!”? Would he be into it? That made his shoulders burn all over again, and the idea stuck in the back of his head like it had sunk its teeth into his brain. It rattled him all the way down his spine, waking him up and forcing him to pay attention.

 

That wasn't just him. The cables he was resting against were moving. Something was coming, and it was big and heavy. 19 metal-plated heavy dudes seemed to match the description, and they were all converging from the south hallway.

 

It was like someone turned the ignition on his head, and it flushed out from the base of his neck and out into his hands and feet, filling his head with an anxious snarling buzz. He snapped into a low stance, all of his tension focused on a single point: Chuck, tucking Calven under his arm and ushering the group close to each other.

 

“Signal now?” Julie asked, a mirror image of his ready stance beside him.

 

“Not yet,” he answered. “Visual confirmation. All nineteen of them. Leave no survivors.”

 

“Todd, you're seriously out of line now.” Chuck dared to point at the big guy, despite quivering like a guitar string and squeaking like he was out of tune. “Th-there's better things to take seriously than this game.”

 

“This isn't about the game anymore, Chuck!” Todd Doomfist snarled. “This is about you telling me what to do! First I can't smoke, then I can't play the game the way I want, and now you're telling me I can't take over the campaign!”

 

“I- wait, what?!”

 

“You guys are the only hold-out losers that take this stupid game seriously!” Todd smacked the axe into his palm, the flat of the blade landing with a powerful slap. Even if the blade wasn't sharp, it would do some serious damage. “Once you're out of the way and I'm in charge, I can call this whole thing off and everyone will be grateful they have something good to do on their weekends!”

 

Darkslayer snapped back, “Nobody wants to get high and watch 'Kangaroo Jack' on repeat except _you_ , Todd.”

 

“All my friends here do.” The rest of the Hoarde filed in, slowly, all brandishing weapons and looking predatory. Mike's fingers clenched. Something gripped over his heart and held it tight. He couldn't help grinning. This was it.

 

“That's all of them,” Julie whispered.

 

Mike threw his head back, cupped his hands to his mouth, and howled.

 

At first, it was just his echo answering him. Julie howled after him, lowering her voice to match his tone, before another howl answered from below. Sounded like Weezer. Mike checked the armies. Chuck's team and the Hoarde had frozen in place, thrown off by the signal. Texas's hands were darting in every direction. The hoarde was flinching. More howls were coming in, first from deep in the building and then closer. The pipes rang with the approaching footfalls. The echoes buffeted him from every direction, and Mike's small grin grew into a full wicked snarl. Backed by his pack, he stood to full height in the glow of the moon and howled to the night sky.

 

“There he is!” Calven cried. “The Wild Wolf!”

 

The rest of his pack and more, more than the 9 pups he sent out, howled from the wings.

 

Then all 18 of them attacked from the flanks and dove into both sides of the Hoarde. Todd's friends screamed bloody murder. That was his cue.

 

He and Julie swung down from the rafters as Chuck surged the human league into battle. He sliced right into the heart of the phalanx, shoving helmet down onto eyes and knocking weapons out of their hands two by two. A bare wrist met his for a split second; it was Texas. “Hey Tiny, good to see ya! Came to watch me kick butt?”

 

“Oh-HO yeah!” They broke off from there, Texas going for the bigger guys while Mike jumped anybody making an obvious swing at someone smaller. Julie darted deep into the fray, running defense for Mike's back and buckling the tall dudes with precision kicks to the back of the knee. There was no room for his staff here, but there was a deep pleasure that came from connecting his bare fist with an unguarded kidney over and over again. They were dropping like flies. A couple of them were already running for the exit.

 

Over Mike's shoulder, he heard a particular scream that pierced through the battle haze. It was Calven's voice, followed by a ruffle of fabric and a hard impact of metal on the floor. Doomfist roared in anger, bellowing, “I'm gonna get you for that, you pasty little nerd!” before Chuck's unmistakable terrified wail filled the room. To Mike's horror, it moved; Chuck was running, and by the clanging footsteps, Doomfist was in pursuit.

 

Mike shouted, “Chuck's in trouble! Breaking off!” to whoever was listening before climbing up the nearest guy and scoping the hallways. There went Doomfist's retreating back, Chuck's screams spilling out from the rafters. Mike kicked off from the dude's head and took off in pursuit. Doomfist could really move for a big guy in heavy armor. He'd almost be something to worry about if he hadn't made the big mistake of messing with Chuck.

 

Problem was, Chuck could run even faster, and while Mike hated to admit it, those long legs covered more ground. He could feel the fight falling out of his reach as he kept on Doomfist's heels. He only hoped Julie and Texas could keep the big guys under control while the knights cleaned up the rest. Dutch wasn't anything to sniff at, but he wasn't a fighter.

 

He was a better fighter than Chuck, though, and Mike's heart was hammering in panic.

 

The hall ended in a circular room after a blind corner. Chuck had turned so hard and ran so blindly that he'd slammed into the opposite wall, and Doomfist was all that stood between him and the door. Doomfist had some quippy pre-smackdown thing to say, Mike was sure of it. Some big powerful “look at me getting the last big hit in” one-liner.

 

Mike roundhouse kicked the guy in the head so hard his helmet came off. It still didn't knock the guy down, only staggered him. With the room to spare, Mike whipped his staff into his hands and hacked the guy's armor. It was nothing, like swiping at air compared to the KaneBots he'd put down for over a year. Metal fell from Doomfist like leaves, leaving nice big squishy layers of target that Mike struck with bare hands until the massive pest was doubled over. Finally he planted the heel of his boot on the center of his forehead and shoved, knocking the tool on his back with a satisfying lumber-like thud.

 

Mike planted that same boot heel on his chest and dug it in. Todd was gasping for breath, face red and swollen where his heel had connected. Mike was hardly winded, but he was panting too, and his shirt was getting cold from the sweat soaking his chest and back. “And guess what, smart guy? I hear that you're bothering anybody in this group again? You're getting this and worse.” He put a little more weight on that heel just to watch the terror on his face. “Especially if you do anything to my 'pasty little nerd', got it?!”

 

Todd nodded, whimpered, and scrambled for the door.

 

There he went... that should be everything. He could hear Texas cheering from here, so there shouldn't have been any casualties. Mike turned to Chuck, crumpled against the floor clutching his heart and gasping for breath. He looked small with that big cloak splayed around him on both sides. Yep, that looked more like the Chuck he was familiar with. “You all right? He didn't hurt you, did he?”

 

“N-no! NO no was- I was-” Chuck was just staring at him. He took the hand Mike offered him, and Mike hoisted him to his feet. He kept his hand held tight, feeling the hammering pulse against his fingertips even through the calluses. “No- h-hee-he was getting c-close to Calven, I panicked, I didn't have a weapon, I threw the cloak...”

 

“Smart thinking.” It was so easy to say, but there was no Mutt to jump into and no battle to continue, and Chuck was still standing, shaking, hyperventilating, and Mike felt at a loss. “Hey, come here.”

 

He just wanted to pull Chuck in for a hug to help steady his nerves, but before they could make contact, Chuck put up a hand and just kind of bounced off of him. His throat was tight as he said, “No-nn- Mikey you're soaked in sweat, dude, I-I mean so am I, you just can't see it under the-”

 

The pack called. Howls were going up all over the building, and footsteps were rattling the ceiling.

 

Mike grinned. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it off in one clean motion, letting his skin breathe in the stagnant night air. Chuck made a soft noise like the wind had been knocked out of him, not too different from the one he made back at the clubhouse. Mike tucked that noise away in his mind for later.

 

“Night's still young, Lord Vanquisher.” He tossed Chuck the shirt. “May the best wolf win.”

 

He retreated into the hallway and slipped into the ceiling at the first opportunity. He gave his own howl before making his way back to The Den to make a new plan, one without interference from Todd's stupid griefer buddies. It was easier than ever to move, finally down to his primal bare skin. Still... he wanted that hug.

 

Chuck dropped to his knees to catch his breath before he went out to face the rest of the valiant warriors. Had to get a hold of himself. Think of baseball. Breathe deep.

 

Mike Chilton smelled like a car. Damn it.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The game had turned into a free-for-all. Chuck had the whole population tallied up. 20 humans to 21 werewolves put them at a bit of a loss, true, but now they had a proper advantage. Every human had allied together into one big group. Everyone who wasn't, was a werewolf, and with that they could attack properly. Plus, now there was no “out” condition, and while that might have to be nerfed for balance purposes later they could really use the population boost now. Lord Vanquisher appeared from the shadows, wrapped tight in his cloak and standing proud for his subjects. “Knights, squires, countrymen, and outsiders!”

 

Claire cheered at “outsiders”, and Lord Vanquisher felt a little bubble of pride. “Tonight, we are no longer a fragmented many! We have come together in our quest against the werewolves, and tonight, we shall prevail! I christen thee the Warriors of the Woods!” He held out a hand from his regal wrap! “Let us go forth! And! VANQUISH!”

 

A swath of the night passed as a series of tiny victories. Sian Willowmere was one lucky capture, separated from her pack mates by The Mighty One and Claire the Lucky. Texas pinned Sian's arms while she giggled and Claire readied her magic glow wand.

 

“By the power of the moon!” Claire pulled back her hand. “I cure you of werewolf!” She “slammed” her hand down about an inch above Sian's chest, pulling it back with clenched fingers and a cry of “Hwooaah!”

 

“Dude!” Texas gushed. “Did you just rip out her werewolf heart and show it to her? That is _so_ Texas! I'm proud of you!”

 

“Uh, yeah?” Claire cocked her hip. “Was it not obvious?”

 

Sian protested as she put on her werewolf beads, barely held back by “Well, I kinda need that heart to live!”

 

Claire shrugged and repeated the heart-pull in reverse, “closing up” Sian's chest for good measure. “There. Good as new.”

 

“So cool!” Texas almost squealed. “Hey, does that make you Sian Window-mere?”

 

Sian doubled over giggling. “Oh my god!”

 

On the other side of the building, Crow of the River Neal cried out in horror. “No! Not Weezer!”

 

“Yes, Weezer!” Dutch held a threatening healing hand over Weezer's forehead. “The choice is yours, Crow of the Wild Wolves! Either abandon your bro here or join the human side along with him!”

 

“Crow! My pack mate, my shield brother!” Weezer pleaded from his hold under Celestia's mighty blade. “I fear the dawn calls me! Come, rejoin me, so our souls might meet in the Mead Halls of Sovengarde!”

 

“For you, my shield brother,” Crow laid down his daggers. “I would do anything. I submit, oh- oh uh- wait what was your name again?”

 

“My character name?” He snapped his welding visor over his head, finally able to wear it properly. “I am The Vulcan Argos, Seer of All!” Then, it went back in his backpack. “But seriously I can barely see through that thing unless I'm welding, so just call me Dutch.”

 

Elsewhere, the Oracle sat in serene silence, meditating, as Mad Dog and his fearsome dragon approached. Mad Dog held his dragon at bay, just for a moment.

 

The Oracle opened his eyes and arms to the visitors. “The Oracle has foreseen your approach. Come, my brothers. Join us in our noble mission.”

 

“By whose word, Oracle?” Mad Dog snuffed. “You are but one against two.”

 

“On the contrary,” decreed The Oracle. “You are but two against legion.”

 

Mad Dog and his dragon turned on their heels. Darkslayer Ruby, Thurman the Magnificent, and the remaining Astroknights stood at their heels, lead by Calven Stickywicket, the Doomslayer. “Surrender yourselves, werewolves!”

 

“Are we gonna survive a battle against the guy who took down Doomfist the Killmaster?” asked the dragon.

 

“Nah, probably not.” Mad Dog flopped back onto the ground along with his dragon. “We are dead.”

 

Calven huffed. “No you're not!”

 

“Oh right.” Mad Dog and his dragon sat back up, putting on their beads. “We are humans.”

 

The Oracle clasped his hands. “So it is written.”

 

The alarming trend continued. Up in the rafters, Mike sent out a howl. The Wild Wolf pack converged on the Den where Mike tallied their numbers.

 

“What is happening out there?!” Mike cried. Most of the pack now were the players they picked up to take out the Hoarde. “We're down to twelve people!”

 

“When I went to the spot Cat o' Ninelives told me about, they were waiting there!” said one pack member. “And the spot after that, and then they followed me to the next one!”

 

“I think they've got our entry points mapped,” said another. “Lord Vanquisher's been making a paper map of the whole forest since we started the game.”

 

“And now they've got the numbers advantage!” Mike growled and addressed the nearest pack member. “You were in Celestia's group too, right? Do you have any idea how much area she mapped before the Hoarde battle?”

 

They didn't answer for a few long seconds. Mike checked their line of sight; they were staring at his nipples. They shook themselves back into awareness. “Wait, what was the question?”

 

“Wild Wolf, I don't think we're winning this unless we turn Lord Vanquisher to our side,” said Julie.

 

Part of Mike shouldn't have flushed with heat at that thought, but he covered it with a toothy grin. “All right. Pack, we're running interference now. Let them get a sight of you and then run. Distract them until you hear my signal.”

 

One of the pack mates sat up straighter. “Wait, why _your_ signal?”

 

He growled low. “Because Lord Vanquisher is _mine_. No one takes him down but me.”

 

Julie's eyes went dark. “Woah. Hot.”

 

That threw him for a loop, and he was Mike again very quickly, stuttering with an accusing whine of “Julie! Dude!”

 

Down below, the little yelp was heard. That sounded like Wild Wolf.

 

Lord Vanquisher raised a hand to silence the entourage. They'd tracked the werewolves with a little bit of geometry on his part, and this seemed to be the focal point for attacks that he'd mapped out. He shivered in excitement. This was it. The big payoff was now or nothing. He waved Texas to the front and pointed to the hole in the ceiling. Dutch gave him a leg up to make the stretch. Texas's head popped into the ceiling. “They TOTALLY have a Den! Texas called it! Lord Vanquisher owes me a sandwich! Also, **HWOO-AAAAAAH**!”

 

The entire ceiling screamed, and suddenly the hallway was literally dripping with werewolves. He was just about to laugh in triumph when one particular chest- person!- dropped in front of him. Every detail about the situation hit him at once: how he was dressed, all the people around, his standing in the game, the last time they talked. It resulted in a particularly loud and wailing scream while he bolted the other way. He had to bob and weave around warriors. His cloak flared out behind him in a noisy ripple, even as he held the front closed from the inside. Okay Mike could NOT see him like this. He would literally die, and the game would go to the werewolves because he would be fucking dead on the floor.

 

He stopped around a corner to catch his breath. He couldn't hear footsteps, so he took a second to gulp for air. Oh man, he ran a ways, didn't he?

 

“Thurman? Ruby? You around here?” He checked over his shoulder.

 

There was Mike. “Hi there.”

 

He screamed and ran. Why couldn't he hear Mike behind him?! He was wearing boots for crying out loud! He didn't even hear him breathing, and his chest was heaving and sweaty and gleaming in the light of his glowstick! That thought alone made his chest tighten up and he was sure he was blushing. He just had to get back to the group and shake Mike. His eyes fell on the right hand tunnel, if he took that it should lead him back to the main group.

 

Except that Mike stepped up his stride and started overtaking him on that side.

 

“No no NO nO OH NO THANK YOU NO-” The other way then! Chuck whipped around to the left side instead, climbing up the tilting tunnel hallway. It was like going up the slide on the old Deluxe playgrounds. He had to plant his feet in and use his hands to grip at the walls. At least Mike was behind him... was he? Chuck kept going until he started feeling winded again. He was hungry. He was thirsty, too, should've had more water during the break. A few more steps. He couldn't hear Mike anymore. He checked over his shoulder. Nothing. Did he shake him? Oh wow, that felt like an accomplishment.

 

Chuck made it all the way to the top of the hallway-slide-tunnel whatever, stumbling out into an empty alcove with an open ceiling. It was pretty well lit here, and he sighed in relief. This was just what he needed. Nice, quiet, “moonlit” room to catch his breath and gather himself. He tucked his hands back into his cloak and pulled it shut. It was almost suffocatingly hot underneath, but he wore it with a thrill and such a pure feeling of fun that it almost felt dirty. Although with how much he was sweating, maybe dirty in the literal sense could work too. He was going to take such a long, very cold shower when he got back to the garage. His pants were fitting weirdly tight for all the running he was doing. Maybe it was just being chased by the Wild Wolf-

 

Chuck gasped. The Wild Wolf who attacked from the ceiling!

 

His head snapped around and up, and there was Mike, lunging at him and slamming into his back. Arms went around him, long enough to go around his entire torso and strong enough to grip him too tight to move, and Chuck shrieked.

 

“Relax, Chuckles, it's me!”

 

He couldn't relax, he could not, he had made a stupid, stupid mistake and he could not let Mike find out! Chuck planted his feet and wrestled with every bit of his strength, thankful for and hating that big cloak. Mike, dear lord Mike was trying to kill him, was talking directly into his ear from behind. “Do you know how much I've been wanting to do that since you pitched me this game?!” His voice was rough and breathless, which was not doing Chuck any favors at all. “This has been perfect! All this running around and hiding and stalking people, and now I finally have you-”

 

“Mikey OH MY GOD!” The force of screaming compressed his chest, and that little half-second of slack gave Chuck an idea. He huffed all the air out of his lungs, shrinking his torso enough for slack, and just dropped straight down and out of Mike's grip. Of course, he had to jump away like Mike was on fire, but it was easy when the Wild Wolf was taking a minute to laugh.

 

“Woah! That was awesome! You've gotta teach me that!”

 

“Uh-HU-UH- su-sure Mike!” Chuck backed away with little steps, cloak pulled tight to him. “Tomorrow!”

 

“Only problem is-” Mike dipped down low, his hands hooked into grabbing “claws”. “Now I know to expect it!”

 

He was being charged again, and every plan left his head. Chuck only had time to squeak “MIKEY DON'T-” before he was tackled full on and falling backwards. Or, not quite backwards; Mike had pitched them into a roll so it was his back that hit the ground first. Chuck had the wherewithal to imagine that it hurt, way in the back of his head that talked a little sense when he was really panicking. He didn't dwell on it. Mike rolled them over so it was Chuck planted against the ground.

 

Now that image would stick in his mind, even in the eternal jittercam that was his own brain. Mike straddled over him. Broad hands holding his shoulders down while his bare chest heaved above. He was practically glowing, both with the force of his smile and the sheen of sweat against his skin, highlighting every muscle in the light of the “moon” above.

 

“Chuck,” said Mike. “This has been one of the best nights of my life. I don't know how to thank you! Everything's been amazing!”

 

Maybe he was safe. Chuck tried to laugh and smile back, shaking his head so his bangs could fall to the side. “I... wow, I-I'm just glad you had fun! Haha... why didn't I hear you following me?”

 

“Oh that's an old trick. Watch. Don't talk.”

 

“But-”

 

Mike held a finger up to his lips, and that alone was enough to make Chuck start hyperventilating. Maybe he was a little touch starved, but even the finger hovering above his lips made him shiver. That same finger pointed up, guiding Chuck to look at Mike's face. Mike just smiled at him... and adjusted his breathing to the same, stuttering rhythm. It didn't look like hyperventilating when Mike did it with an easy grin and expectant eyes. Chuck started to calm down, and easy as that, Mike's breath slowed to match. Chuck swallowed, watching Mike's Adam's apple bob along with him. “That... is really cool.”

 

“I know, right? I took all this training for granted! I use it all the time to fight Kane's goons.” Mike was so proud, too proud for Chuck to stress too much. Sure, Mike was still sitting on his gut and it was doing this to him, but he would chalk that up to being skin hungry and wouldn't mention it. “I.. hold up.”

 

Mike's eyes dipped down, and Chuck squeaked, trying to close his legs. He couldn't see it, could he? It wasn't much, he didn't think? But Mike had crazy observational skills sometimes and he couldn't know what was going through his head at this point.

 

Mike's hands left his shoulders, moving down... and opening his cloak.

 

Yep, Chuck would die. In the moon light, it was horrifyingly obvious, nearly shining on its own. Mike's eyebrows shot up, eyes going wide... and his nostrils flared, Chuck noticed, distantly, waaay in the back of his head. That might be important in retrospect.

 

Chuck's shirt was half-hanging out of his back pocket. Instead, Mike's shirt hung off of his twiggy frame like a tent, a smelly wet plain of white against the dark green of the cloak.

 

Chuck felt a shiver go over Mike through his legs, and that did things to him downstairs that he would deny up and down for the rest of time. Mike didn't make it any better when he asked, “You're _wearing_ my _shirt_?”

 

“I- um- look,” he tried to explain. “I-I got really- it was a moment, and you pulled the shirt off and handed it to me and I didn't want to leave it anywhere and-”

 

“And you've been _wearing_ it?”

 

“I-It's not anything weird or- like- um-”

 

Mike's hands planted hard on his shoulders, pushing him down into the floor, and Chuck shut up fast. Something seemed off. Mike wasn't making eye contact with him. He was sort of vacantly letting his eyes fall so they stared through his chest and into the floor, and it wasn't a good look. It made Chuck worry even harder, and he tried to wriggle to stand up. Mike kept him held down.

 

“Chuck... I...”

 

Chuck's stomach fell through the floor. Here it was. His death approached.

 

“Chuck... you remember the Doom Jump?”

 

“I-I'm sorry Mike- I- wait.” Chuck reset his speech and swallowed hard. “I mean- yeah, I do. What? What's happening right now?”

 

“I- look I don't-” Mike coughed out a little wheeze of a laugh and ruffled the hair at the back of his neck. “This is hard. Is this how you feel all the time?”

 

Chuck was about to say 'yes' before Mike kept going. “That was- rude, sorry, just- okay.” He took a deep breath. “I've been thinking about this LARPing thing a lot tonight. Watching you be so calm and cool with everybody and being a real leader is- is maybe something I wish I knew about earlier.”

 

That thought plucked at his heart with a little guilt and a little fear. Watching Mike bare that particular line of thought made him seem, for lack of a better word, naked, and Chuck could feel that echo in his own chest powerfully. “Mikey, you already know that's not me.”

 

“But it is! It's a part of who you are! It's a part I didn't know about!” Shirtless or not, hottest guy in the room by far or not, Mike was starting to shiver and his voice carried a little vibrato that wasn't there before. Chuck was shaking in sympathy. “There's so much of you I wanna learn about, so... if you're keeping anything else...”

 

His hand rested on his shirt, on Chuck's chest, above his hammering heart. “... hidden... maybe it's time we told each other?”

 

Told each other, Chuck repeated in his mind. Not tell him, not a one-way street to Ruin-The-Friendship-ville, not just him saying one thing. Both of them, telling each other. They were both shaking, and Chuck tried to steady himself by holding Mike's hand...

 

He laughed. That's what he meant. “It feels like going over the Doom Jump.”

 

Mike's grin nearly reached his ears. “And we made it out of there alive.”

 

Chuck's brain came back with some dour logic, pinching his face into a guilty frown. “We totaled Mutt.”

 

“I totaled Mutt.” Mike settled a little lower, nothing but gentle smiles and acceptance. “And we rebuilt her, better than before.”

 

Chuck's smile still hurt, and he was still shivering, but he managed to say, “Well, Dutch did.”

 

Mike snorted out a little laugh. “You want me to get Dutch in on this?”

 

Chuck shouted around the smile twitching at his lips, “HELL no!”

 

That broke them both. Mike dropped his head onto Chuck's shoulder and laughed his ass off. Chuck wrapped his arms around Mike's shoulders and pulled him close, his own laughter echoing through the empty room. All those nervous shivers left him with every breath, all the guffaws and stifled attempts to breathe leaving him too tired to get scared. At least, not the debilitating kind of scared. He still felt a flutter in his gut when they pulled away from each other and Mike was just... so close. Nose to nose, practically, and still sitting on him with all the casual comfort of sitting on the garage couch. Still no shirt, because Chuck got a little too enamored with the smell and put it on before he went back to the LARPers. He was touching Mike's bare back, and the world wasn't ending. He hadn't burst into flames or sunk through the floor at all. Mike was still smiling, just... waiting for him to say something.

 

This seemed like zero hour. He'd hear Mike's side, so... time to admit to some stuff. He'd chalked up his feelings to hero worship. He figured he got flutters in his stomach whenever Mike did something really cool just because Mike was that cool. Mike literally-overpowered-please-nerf Chilton was a badass and smooth and his closest friend, so he got a front-row seat to all the hottest stuff he ever did. It was just naturally to see somebody like Mike and go “Yeah, he could do whatever he wanted with me.”

 

It was something else to tell him that. “Mikey, I... I- uh... wow...” He took a second to brush his bands back into place. Mike reached down and parted them again, to keep his eyes in view. That shouldn't have made him shiver again. “Nothing feels... big enough. Like... I dunno, the way you make me feel, just, like, all the time... I sound like an idiot...”

 

“It's really hard, I know,” Mike admitted.

 

“It didn't sound hard when you did it!” Chuck sighed. “Man, everything you do is just so effortless and amazing- and you've only been thinking about this tonight! I've been mulling this stuff over in my head for years, and-”

 

“Woah wait- back up!” Mike gasped. “You've been into me for years?”

 

“Well yeah I- wait-” Well, in a way, Mike had taken the hardest part right out of his mouth, but at the same time there he went stealing his thunder. “Well... yeah. For years. A lotta years. Compared to your, you know, just tonight-”

 

“Hey- no! I didn't mean it like that!” Mike stepped in. “I-I just meant, tonight, I saw more of you and I liked it too! Just as much as the rest of you!”

 

“You like the rest of me?” Chuck hated how his voice was cracking- he was too old for this, damn it, or at least he was supposed to be. “The scared wimp? The.. the 'pasty little nerd'?”

 

Mike had to look away to chuckle at that, and when he focused on Chuck again, his gaze was half-lidded and predatory. “I dunno. That 'pasty little nerd' looks really good wearing my clothes. I think I might just wanna kiss him.”

 

“You jus- aha-haaa...” Chuck choked on a few words before one finally squeaked out. “Okay.”

 

Mike ran his hand through Chuck's hair one more time, cradling his head. “You up for it?”

 

He was aiming for “yes”, but what came out was an “ _Always_...” that was breathy and rough and sexy even to his own ears. Where Mike was sitting on him was already plenty hot, but he'd been tuning it out just because they'd been talking about important stuff. Now it was getting noticeably hot and weighty against him, even more when Mike shifted his weight lower, into his actual lap and close enough to his junk that every little brush against him felt like electrical arcs. His hands clenched against Mike's shoulders, great big handfuls of muscle in his dumb bony arms.

 

Mike gave one last little laugh. “Wow.” He kissed him.

 


	6. Chapter 6

When Mike asked if this was how Chuck felt all the time, he wasn't kidding. This felt like he was going to shake out of his skin but in a way that was.... powerfully fun and hot and awesome, and he needed bigger words. Nothing felt good enough to describe how right it felt to have Chuck snuggled underneath him, a hand dug into his hair to pull him into a kiss- which was... was...

 

Tricky. That shaking wasn't all excitement; Mike knew most of what he knew on physical stuff from movies, and even those he only really dared to watch when he was really and truly alone, which was almost never, or when he could sneak them onto the playlist for movie night when everybody else had fallen asleep. Every slide of lips and flicker of a tongue between them was a thrill to watch. Doing it in real time, kissing someone he knew, didn't account for the rest of their body or the little whimpers they made under their breath, or their teeth. At least those noises, Chuck's wonderful unchecked delicate little noises, made it sound like he was doing it good. His hips rolled without thinking, and Chuck's twitched up to meet him. Doing it really good.

 

Doing it fine until his collarbone pressed hard against metal, and Chuck flinched with a little yelp. They pulled away from each other. The clasp of his cloak must have pinched into Chuck's skin. Chuck was starting to shrink underneath him, eyebrows furrowing, and Mike acted before the mood left completely. “No problem! Lemme get that.”

 

It was just a little eyelet hook to undo, and Mike got to savor the look of pulling the cloak open and really exposing all of Chuck. It was like unwrapping the hottest present. His shirt had rumpled up and exposed a pale sliver of belly. Chuck was starting to blush, and it made the freckles on his cheeks just that little bit more prominent when he shyly smiled. His eyes, though, and how they lingered on Mike and took in every little bit of him like he was something really special just got to him. He'd gotten a little burned out on being ogled by random Motorcitizens over the years, but this was Chuck. The person he cared about the most in maybe the whole world wanted him this much. It did things to his heart that he couldn't describe.

 

Chuck reached up and playfully pushed him, batting at his left pec. “What are you doing blushing?”

 

“I'm allowed to blush!” Mike countered, hugging Chuck around the shoulders again. He teased, like it was nothing more than roughhousing, “What are you doing? Shut up!”

 

“It's just weird! I'm not used to seeing you- like-”

 

“Like what?” asked Mike. “Enjoying the view?”

 

Chuck shivered and tried to hide behind his bangs again. Mike just brushed them right back out of the way. “Oh, god, Mikey, I'm hardly a view.”

 

“Mmmmwrong. You're a great view.” Mike smooched his lips for emphasis, and Chuck's long legs shifted between his thighs and sent sparks up his spine. “ _Oh wow_ do that again.”

 

“What, this?” There was no tease to Chuck's tone. It was an honest, flat question, and repeating the movement just made him go “Huh! Your legs must be sensitive.” even when Mike nearly crumpled on top of him. “Come on, let's try this...”

 

Chuck planted his feet, and with a little guiding push, he tipped Mike onto his side and rolled over to meet him. They both squirmed at the change of posture, and Mike could appreciate the weight being taken off his knees already. But one long leg snaking around his hip and holding tight, Chuck catching one of his thighs between both of his and holding it, took his breath away. He pulled them flush together in a bear hug, kissing Chuck wherever his lips happened to fall (which happened to be his cheek and ear, and a lot of hair in addition). Chuck cooed soft noises of pleasure into his ear every time his kisses left his skin with a soft smack. He could just do this forever, as far as he was concerned. This was perfect, this was great, this was... slightly not enough, now that he was hard enough to feel his zipper digging into his bits.

 

Then Chuck rolled his hips into him and he gasped out loud. He could feel- Chuck was- Something came out of his mouth that sounded like a whimper, but he wasn't sure he could make noises like that.

 

“Oh dude, I know. Me too,” said Chuck right into his ear. “D-do you want me to stop? We can pick up when we get home-”

 

“No. More.” The idea of stopping freaked him out. What if Chuck got nervous, or Texas didn't want to leave them alone, or Kane did something and they never got the chance again? Fretting with his hands, Mike tried to somehow gather up Chuck even tighter, like there were bits of him he didn't have his hands all over. One of his fingers fell on a little lick of bare skin, and Mike decided that, yes, that was definitely what he wanted. That shirt was coming off. “Gimme more.”

 

Mike grabbed from the bottom and pulled. Chuck yelped before the shirt was all the way off, and before he could wiggle it over Chuck's shoulders, Chuck was holding his hands and pushing them back down. “Woah- Mikey! Hey! That- that can stay on! It's no problem!”

 

“But I wanna see!” He could just overpower Chuck, he guessed, but that wasn't really the point, was it? He didn't stop pushing, though. If they were gonna wrestle over this dumb sweaty shirt, then so be it! “It's just a shirt, Chuckles. I already know about your toes, how's this different?”

 

“It's context!” Chuck argued. “It feels weird!”

 

“ _This_ feels weird?” Mike rolled his hips for emphasis. “You are grinding on my thigh!”

 

“I don't hear you complaining!” For all his fussing, Chuck was grinding right back, and stuff was getting real uncomfortable downstairs. It gave Mike an idea.

 

“You want me giving you hickeys where people can see them?”

 

Chuck's scream was structured like there were supposed to be words, but it all came out in a confused high warble, and it was just the distraction Mike needed. That stupid shirt came off in one smooth move, and it got tossed somewhere behind him, he wasn't paying attention. Mike dove into the hollow of Chuck's throat and licked, catching a nose full of Chuck's scent mixed in with his, the sweat and Mutt's interior and the stupid Febreeze. Should he be this into what his buddy smelled like? It felt right. It felt really right.

 

Chuck's hands were on top of his head, pushing down. His voice cracked as he whimpered, “Lower! Lower!”

 

Oh that was not helping matters at all. Mike curled in and tried to make himself small so he could kiss Chuck's collarbone, lick at his nipples, suck in any patch of skin he could get his mouth around just to hear the sharp cry Chuck made when he did it. His hands finally found a place on Chuck's hips and clamped down there, so he could feel the roll along his leg and crotch all the way up through his shoulders. Chuck's long fingers kneaded at his scalp; guy was too overwhelmed to do anything but whimper, just like those good rides in Mutt, and Mike was starting to feel like a werewolf because he just wanted to sink his teeth into Chuck and make him his. The heat between his legs was unbearable, and amazing, and not quite aligned right with his pants so it rubbed against Chuck's junk a little funny. It wasn't enough, not even with the shirt off.

 

“Mikey?” Chuck panted. “Mike I'm- lemme get my jeans, I'm not gonna last. Want me to get yours?”

 

“Wh- what, my-” He pulled away just enough to catch Chuck's eyes. “My fly?”

 

“Well- yeah? But not just- come on!” Chuck swept the hair out of his eyes again, letting Mike see the dark, wide pupils and the little lick of his lips when he spoke. The blush across his cheeks had grown all the way down to his nipples. Mike wished he had a camera. “I wouldn't go through all this to make you cum in your pants, dude.”

 

It was like he'd been electrocuted. Every nerve in his body fired at once with a surge of tingling heat across every inch of his skin, and it left him all in a weak little huff, and Chuck saw it. Mike knew he saw it, because he saw the wicked smile grow across his face after a few calculating glances.

 

Chuck swallowed. “Y-you like it when I say stuff like that? Mr. Bet-Your-Butt gets turned on with a little dirty word?”

 

Well, it was true, Mike had never really picked up on swearing, but it never really came up- he didn't think it would come up in a situation like this. “Um-”

 

Chuck leaned in close, still grinning, and there in that smile was a little hint of Lord Vanquisher that Mike could finally reach out and touch. “Mikey, our dicks are mashed together. I could _feel_ you liking it.”

 

Mike shuddered and moaned against his neck. “Chuck, jeeze...”

 

His voice dropped into a dirty little whisper, like they'd get caught if he spoke too loud. “I can still feel it pulsing now.”

 

That cemented it. Mike was dead. He was going to explode and die from hearing Chuck talk like that. Chuck's hands left his head to undo his belt and fly, and even the little motions there were almost enough to break him. He was too nervous to look when Chuck pulled down his underwear, and even the little brush of the tip against Chuck's belly was enough to send him shuddering all over again.

 

Chuck whispered in his ear as he took his whole length in his hand. “Joystick handling.”

 

He broke and laughed louder than he was comfortable with, only getting that loud because Chuck was cackling even louder. “Chuck!!!”

 

“I couldn't resist!” said Chuck. “It was right there!”

 

“I'm getting you back fo- gimme yours!” Mike undid those jeans faster than Chuck broke code. “No complaining when I'm about to see your junk but you fought me over the shirt!” He'd caught Chuck by the belt loops enough to know he didn't wear underwear, but finally seeing it- and it was so dark and twitching- made his mouth water, and Chuck rolled his hips again and they touched, and electricity went through him again. “Ooh!!!”

 

“Yeah that- gimme a second, if we just-” Chuck changed his grip, and Mike moved where Chuck guided him. He was whispering instructions in his ear, too; he could hear them, but the specifics of them all just kind of disappeared as Mike latched onto the husky tone, the volume, the closeness. Chuck brought them together, with Mike hitched just a little higher on his leg and meeting belly to belly. Chuck rolled just a touch, just a little on top of him so he could reach between them and guide their members into the crook of Mike's hip, and then settled.

 

Thinking time over. Chuck moved against him, and Mike's brain went off. It was too good. Perfect little wet well of heat, and Chuck had been right; he could feel the pulses now, skin to skin. Everything in the world focused down on that beautifully hot point, and on Chuck's hands raking through his hair, and kissing him.

 

Chuck nuzzled him. “Come on, bro, breathe.”

 

He gasped for air. When had he stopped breathing? He couldn't focus, not when the heads of... they were pushing against each other, and he- his skin felt like was going to catch fire. He could only cling, and roll his hips, and kiss weakly at Chuck's neck. Chuck was petting his hair and saying nice things to him, and it was hot, it was all so, really, really hot he couldn't...

 

Chuck's breath went quicker, deeper. He went stiff on top of him and said his name like a plea, and it was the best sound in the world. Mike came with gasp and a kiss, and melted back into the floor.

 

They'd done it. He looked up and Chuck was still there, still red and sweaty, hair still trying to cover up his pretty eyes while he rested on his side. They were still holding each other. The arm under Chuck was starting to hurt from the weight.

 

Their eyes met, and the laughing started. It was tired and soft, now, but... here they were. Totaled, and ready to rebuild.

 

Chuck woke up a little faster and started sitting up. “Oh shit, the game...”

 

Oh right, they were in the middle of a session, weren't they? “I wanna cuddle...”

 

“You want them to find us like this?”

 

Oh, right, reality. “No... man, I was comfy.”

 

“Yeah...” Chuck reached over and wiped off their stomachs with Mike's shirt. He chuckled a little. “Good thing you took that off earlier.”

 

“Yeah, nobody expects me to come back with it. I should go back to the Den and get my jacket, though.” Mike sat up. There was something he hadn't thought about, too. He searched his pocket. “Hey, Chuck?”

 

“Mikey?”

 

Mike reached over and tucked one end of his last string of beads into Chuck's pocket. “Welcome to the pack.”

 

“God... god, Mikey, really?” Chuck dropped his head on Mike's shoulder to laugh, and Mike automatically put at arm around him. This little gesture was going to be different for them forever. They were both still hanging out of their pants, even. “Yeah... kinda figured I'd lose. 77 role players versus Mike Chilton, and Mike wins.”

 

“It's a tactical loss.” He finally made a move to fix his pants, which made Chuck pull himself back together as well. Mike pulled them both to their feet and kept Chuck's hands folded into his. “So the session's over. Oh well. You got me out of it, didn't you?”

 

Chuck's shoulders tucked in, trying to shrink himself down to Mike's height. “Mike, you're not a _prize._ I love you.”

 

Time usually slowed down for Mike when something bad happened. A blow glanced his head, or something exploded on the driver's side, something that could potentially hurt him bad made the world stop and narrow down to that single space of time for longer than it should last.

 

He'd never had that happen because he was happy before. Even while Chuck was preemptively flinching, that look on his face saying that he'd messed up- no buddy you haven't come back to me, Mike wanted to say- slowly pulling away at the mood, Mike's heart was dissolving into little joyful bubbles and diffusing through his whole body.

 

“I love you too,” Mike said, and Mike watched that same feeling wash over Chuck's entire body in real time until his best bro was grinning and shaking and clutching his hand in the “moon light”. Mike brought Chuck's hands up to his lips and kissed them. “Always have, okay? It's not all new. We're just rebuilding on the old frame.”

 

“And building it better... yeah.” Chuck nodded. “Way better.”

 

“Pizza in the clubhouse, and then home?”

 

“I think this calls for a party, yeah.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

A laugh tugged at Chuck's cheeks. “Yeah.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Mike, cut it out!”

 

“Yeah.” Chuck was trying so hard not to giggle, it was worth it. Now, his pack was waiting. Mike took his hands back to cup them to his face and howl to the moon. With a little giggle, Chuck did the same, his own howl being a high counterpoint to his deep note. The whole building echoed with the sound of the pack cheering in victory before they answered with their own howls.

 

Chuck put his shirt back on while they walked to the Den, and then they both put on their overcoats and joined the rest of the LARPers at the club house. Mike walked Chuck in with an arm over his shoulder, casual as all get out, and they barely jumped when the Burners met them in the door.

 

“Was that The Signal?” Julie asked, eyes aglow with anticipation. The rest of the LARPers leaned in, hushed in excitement. “Did we really win?”

 

Chuck laughed and lowered his hood, pulling the beads out of his pocket. “Yeah... he got me.”

 

The whole building screamed, elated, no matter which side they were on.

 

“See?! I told you!” Texas bragged. “Whichever side had Texas would win! I get turned into a werewolf? BOOM! We win! It was really rigged from the start.”

 

“Julie tagged us in the last stretch!” Dutch recapped. “It was awesome! She was like a beast!”

 

Claire was off in the back, recounting how she held out the longest against Cat o' Ninelives the werecat to the AstroKnights, but they were all pretty braggy on Julie, too.

 

The Oracle raised his hands. “I propose that we make this celebration official! Lord Vanquisher, on your word!”

 

“Werewolves of the Realm!” Lord Vanquisher decreed. “REHEAT THE PIZZA!”

 

There was a din of hollers before pizza started getting stacked and shoved into the clubhouse microwave. Everybody put on their beads for fun. Mason turned up Rock Band (only Dutch asked “Wait, doesn't that belong to Todd?” before deciding that Todd didn't really need it back), declaring a tournament. The quieter nerds immediately pulled out decks of trading cards and started up a game, gathering a sizable crowd.

 

“PICTURES! We've gotta take pictures before people leave!” Calven shouted. “I gotta show my brother!”

 

While Calven went around snapping photos of everything, and Texas and Claire followed him to photobomb every shot, Julie made her way back to Mike and Chuck. Her smile was just a little too sharp, a mix of formulating and maybe having a little more sweet potato wine than she planned on.

 

“Mike,” she asked, “Where's your shirt?”

 

“Somewhere back in the lot,” he said. It was the truth. He was happy to just hang around the clubhouse with his jacket open and his pecs exposed. Chuck was still tucked into his arm. “Didn't feel like getting it.”

 

“But you went and got your jacket.”

 

“Hey, this jacket's a trademark,” said Mike. “I can get another white t-shirt.”

 

Julie kept on, her eyes darting around as she noticed things. “Just wondering. Because the back of Chuck's cloak is covered with dirt.”

 

Chuck gulped. “Wait- it is?”

 

“And you-” Julie pointed to Mike's chest, knowledge dawning on her piece by piece. “You have a mark on your chest.”

 

Mike's breath caught. “What?”

 

“And it's shaped-” She pointed to Chuck's cloak clasp. “Like-” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And your lips are red. I didn't notice in the dark but up close-”

 

“H-hey!” Chuck folded himself up in his cloak, and Mike pulled him closer. “We barely got- th-this is a new development, Julie!”

 

“Right. Right! Sorry. Won't tell anyone.” She put a finger to her lips. “That's on your terms. Oh my god. _Get up his skirt a little more!_ We were just talking about it!” Julie turned on her heel and left in a hurry, still tittering to herself. “Oh my god!!!”

 

Chuck gasped. “Up my skirt?!”

 

“It- it'll take a while to explain that,” Mike offered with an apologetic smile. “Explain on the ride back?”

 

“Mike, The Oracle came and picked us up, remember?”

 

“Oh, right.” He would just automatically assume they came in Mutt. “My bad. How about back at the garage? Once we're in bed.”

 

“Okay that so-sohooow- hold on.” Chuck hunkered down low, and Mike tucked his head to meet him and nuzzle their foreheads together. “You mean like... your room? Me and you? For the night?”

 

“That okay?” Mike asked. “I know you don't like people messing up your system in your room.” That was mostly code for “Chuck's room was a mess and he didn't like people in there because it meant he had to clean”, but still.

 

“What-” Chuck gulped. “What if someone sees us leaving together?”

 

Mike thought about it. The Burners knowing... what? That he loved Chuck? Because they kind of already did. Chuck was his best bro, rode shotgun, had known Mike longer than any of the other guys or Julie. The only thing that was really changing was that they might kiss and get each other off now. “I'm okay with it.”

 

“I... wow. Like... Wow!” That seemed to floor him. Chuck sunk into his side, already blushing again, making his freckles stand out. Mike had kissed those freckles. What a feeling. “Wowwee.”

 

He snickered. “Yeah.”

 

“Mike oh my god!” Chuck hid his face, but he was smiling under it, Mike could see. “That's like the dumbest thing we did all night and you pick up on it.”

 

“Probably the dumbest thing we did all night was not eat.” Mike was getting whiffs of the pizza, and his stomach started growling just from hearing the word 'eat'. “I'm starving. Let's get some pizza.”

 

“I'm gonna have weird dreams eating this late.”

 

Mike stood and held out a hand. “And I'll be there when you wake up from them.”

 

Chuck took a deep breath and let it all out slow, grinning and giggling. “You will... oh man. Wow. This is the best night ever.”

 

Chuck reached up and took his hand, and Mike held it tight.

 


End file.
